Selections from the writings of Kierkegaard

*r£

University of Texas Bulletin

No. 2326: July 8, 1923

SELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF
KIERKEGAARD

Translated by
L. M. HOLLANDER

Adjunct Professor of Germanic Languages
COMPARATIVE LITERATURE SERIES NO. 3

PUBLISHED BY'
THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS

AUSTIN

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^Ifc&T/ff

University of Texas Bulletin

No. 2326: July 8, 1923

SELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF
KIERKEGAARD

Translated by
L. M. HOLLANDER

Adjunct Professor of Germanic Languages
COMPARATIVE LITERATURE SERIES NO. 3

t'UBUSHED BY THE UNIVERSITY FOUR TIMES A MONTH. AND ENTERED A»

SECOND-CLASS MATTER AT THE POSTOFFICB AT AUSTIN. TEXAS.

UNDER THE ACT OF AUGUST 24. 1912

The benefits of education and of
useful knowledge, generally di£Fused
through a community, are essential
to the preservation of a free govern-
ment.

Sam Houston

Cultivated mind is the guardian
genius of democracy. ... It is the
only dictator that freemen acknowl-
edge and the only security that free-
men desire.

Mirabeau B. Lamar

To my Father-in-Law

The Reverend George Fisher,

A Christian

CONTENTS

Introduction 11

1) Diapsalmata (from Either — Or, Part 1) 43

2) The Banquet (from Stages on Life's Road, Part I) 46

3) Fear and Trembling 119

4) Preparation for a Christian Life 152

5) The Present Moment 214

INTRODUCTION

Creditable as have been the contributions of Scandinavia
to the cultural life of the race in well-nigh all fields of
human endeavor, it has produced but one thinker of the
first magnitude, the Dane, Soren A. Kierkegaard.^ The
fact that he is virtually unknown to us is ascribable, on
the one hand to the inaccessibility of his works, both as to
language and form; on the other, to the regrettable in-
sularity of English thought.

It is the purpose of this book to remedy the defect in a
measure, and by a selection from his most representative
works to provide a stimulus for a more detailed study of his
writings; for the present times, ruled by material consid-
erations, wholly led by socializing, and misled by national,
ideals are precisely the most opportune to introduce the
bitter but wholesome antidote of individual responsibility,
which is his message. In particular, students of Northern
literature cannot afford to know no more than the name
of one who exerted a potent and energizing influence on
an important epoch of Scandinavian thought. To mention
only one instance, the greatest ethical poem of our age,
"Brand" — notwithstanding Ibsen's curt statement that he
"had read little of Kierkegaard and understood less" —
undeniably owes its fundamental thought to him, whether
directly or indirectly.

Of very few authors can it be said with the same literal-
ness as, of Kierkegaard that their life is their works : as if
to furnish living proof of his untiring insistance on inward-
ness, his life, like that of so many other spiritual educators
of the race, is notably poor in incidents ; but his life of in-
ward experiences is all the richer — witness the "literature
within a literature" that came to be within a few years
and that gave to Danish letters a score of immortal works.

^Pronounced Kerkegor.

12 University of Texas Bulletin

Kierkegaard's physical heredity must be pronounced un-
fortunate. Being the child of old parents — ^his father was
fifty-seven, his mother forty-five years at his birth (May 5,
1813), he had a weak physique and a feeble constitution.
Still worse, he inherited from his father a burden of mel-
ancholy which he took a sad pride in masking under a show
of sprightliness. His father, Michael Pedersen Kierke-
gaard, had begun life as a poor cotter's boy in West Jut-
land, where he was set to tend the- sheep on the wild moor-
lands. One day, we are told, oppressed by loneliness and
cold, he ascended a hill and in a passionate rage cursed God
who had given him this miserable existence — the memory
of which "sin against the Holy Ghost" he was not able to
shake off to the end of his long life.- When seventeen years
old, the gifted lad was sent to his uncle in Copenhagen, who
was a well-to-do dealer in woolens and groceries. Kierke-
gaard quickly established himself in the trade and amassed
a considerable fortune. This enabled him to withdraw
from active life when only forty, and to devote himself to
philosophic studies, the leisure for which life had till then
denied him. More especially he seems to have studied the
works of the rationalistic philosopher Wolff. After the
early death of his first wife who left him no issue, he mar-
ried a former servant in his household, also of Jutish stock,
who bore him seven children. Of these only two survived
him, the oldest son — later bishop — Peder Christian, and
the youngest son, Soren Abye.

Nowhere does Kierkegaard speak of his mother, a woman
of simple mind and cheerful disposition ; but he speaks all
the more often of his father, for whom he ever expressed
the greatest love and admiration and who, no doubt, de-
voted himself largely to the education of his sons, particu-
larly to that of his latest born. Him he was to mould in
his own image. A pietistic, gloomy spirit of religiosity
pervaded the household in which the severe father was un-
disputed master, and absolute obedience the watchword.

-An interesting parallel is the story of Peter Williams, as told
by George Borrow, Lavengro, chap. 75 ft.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 13

Little Soren, as he himself tells us, heard more of the
Crucified and the martyrs than of the Christ-child and good
angels. Like John Stuart Mill, whose early education bears
a remarkable resemblance to his, he "never had the joy to
be a child." Although less systematically held down to
his studies, in which religion was the be-all and end-all
(instead of being banished, as was the case with Mill), he
was granted but a minimum of out-door play and exercise.
And, instead of strengthening the feeble body, his father
threw the whole weight of his melancholy on the boy.

Nor was his home training, formidably abstract, counter-
balanced by a normal, healthy school-life. Naturally intro-
spective and shy, both on account of a slight deformity of
his body and on account of the old-fashioned clothes his
father made him wear, he had no boy friends; and when
cuffed by his more robust contemporaries, he could defend
himself only with his biting sarcasm. Notwithstanding
his early maturity he does not seem to have impressed
either his schoolmates or his teachers by any gifts much
above the ordinary. The school he attended was one of
those semi-public schools which by strict discipline and
consistent methods laid a solid foundation of humanities
and mathematics for those who were to enter upon a pro-
fessional career. The natural sciences played nojfole what-
ever.

Obedient to the wishes of his father, Soren chose the
study of theology, as had his eldest brother; but, once re-
lieved from the grind of school at the age of seventeen, he
rejoiced in the full liberty of university^ life, indulging him-
self to his heart's content in all the refined intellectual and
aesthetic enjoyments the gay capital of Copenhagen offered.
He declares himself in later years to be "one who is peni-
tent" for having in his youth plunged into all kinds of ex-
cesses; but we feel reasonably sure that he committed no
excesses worse than "high living." He was frequently seen
at the opera and the theatre, spent money freely in restau-
rants and confectionary shops, bought many and expensive
books, dressed well, and indulged in such extravagances as
driving in a carriage and pair, alone, for days through the

14 University of Texas Bulletin

fields and forests of the lovely island of Zealand. In fact,
he contracted considerable debts, so that his disappointed
father decided to put him on an allowance of 500 rixdollars
yearly — rather a handsome sum, a hundred years ago.

Naturally, little direct progress was made in his studies.
But while to all appearances aimlessly dissipating his en-
ergies, he showed a pronounced love for philosophy and
kindred disciplines. He lost no opportunity then offered
at the University of Copenhagen to train his mind along
these lines. He heard the sturdily independent Sibbern's
lectures on aesthetics and enjoyed a "privatissimum" on the
main issues of Schleiermacher's Dogmatics with his later
enemy, the theologian Martensen, author of the celebrated
"Christian Dogmatics."

But there was no steadiness in him. Periods of indiffer-
ence to these studies alternated with feverish activity, and
doubts of the truth of Christianity, with bursts of devotion.
However, the Hebraically stern cast of mind of the ex-
terrially gay student soon wearied of this rudderless exist-
enceence. He sighs for an "Archimedean" point of sup-
port for his conduct of life. We find the following entry
in his diary, which prophetically foreshadows some of the
fundamental ideas of his later career: "... what I really
need is to arrive at a clear comprehension of w h a t I am
t o d o, not of what I am to grasp with my understanding,
except insofar as this understanding is necessary for every
action. The point is, to comprehend what I am called to
do, to see what the Godhead really means that I shall do,
to find a truth which is truth for me, to find the idea
for which I am willing to live and to
die..."

This Archimedean point was soon to be furnished him.
There came a succession of blows, culminating in the' death
of his father, whose silent disapprobation had long been
weighing heavily on the conscience of the wayward son.
Even more awful, perhaps, was a revelation made by the
dying father to his sons, very likely touching that very
"sin against the Holy Ghost" which he had committed in
his boyhood and the consequence of which he now was to

Selections frmn the Writings of Kierkegaard 15

lay on them as a curse, instead of his blessing. Kierke-
gaard calls it "the great earthquake, the terrible upheaval,
which suddenly forced on me a new and infallible interpre-
tation of all phenomena." He began to suspect that he had
been chosen by Providence for an extraordinary' purpose;
and with his abiding filial piety he interprets his father's
death as the last of many sacrifices he made for him ; "for
he died, not away from me, but for me, so that there
might yet, perchance, become something of me." Crushed
by this thought, and through the "new interpretation" de-
spairing of happiness in this life, he clings to the thought
of his unusual intellectual powers as his only consolation
and a means by which his salvation might be accomplished.
He quickly absolved his examination for ordination (ten
years after matriculation) and determined on his magis-
terial dissertation. ■

Already some years before he had made a not very suc-
cessful debut in the world of letters with a pamphlet whose
queer title "From the MSS, of One Still Li\ang" reveals
Kierkegaard's inborn love of mystification and innuendo.
Like a Puck of philosophy, with somewhat awkward bounds
and a callow manner, he had there teased the worthies of
his times ; and, in particular, taken a good fall out of Hans
Christian Andersen, the poet of the Fairj* Tales, who had
aroused his indignation by describing in somewhat lach-
rymose fashion the struggles of genius to come into its
own. Kierkegaard himself was soon to show the truth of
his own dictum that "genius does not whine but like a
thunderstorm goes straight counter to the wind."

While casting about for a subject worthy of a more sus-
tained effort — he marks out for study the legends of Faust,
of the Wandering Jew, of Don Juan, as representatives of
certain basic views of life ; the Conception of Satire among
the Ancients, etc., etc., — he at last becomes aware of his
affinity with Socrates, in whom he found that rare harmony
between theory and the conduct of life which he hoped to
attain himself.

■^Corresponding, approximately, to our doctoral thesis.

16 University of Texas Bulletin

Though not by Kierkegaard himself counted among the
works bearing on the "Indirect Communication" — presently
to be explained — his magisterial dissertation, entitled "The
Conception of Irony, with Constant Reference to Socrates,"
a book of 300 pages, is of crucial importance. It shows
that, helped by the sage who would not directly help
any one, he had found the master key : his own interpreta-
tion of life. Indeed, all the following literary output may
be regarded as the consistent development of the simple
directing thoughts of his firstling work. And we must de-
vote what may seem a disproportionate amount of space
to the explanation of these thoughts if we would enter into
the world of his mind.

Not only did Kierkegaard feel kinship with Socrates. It
did not escape him that there was an ominous similarity
between Socrates' times and his own — between the period
of flourishing Attica, eminent in the arts and in philosophy,
when a little familiarity with the shallow phrases of the
Sophists enabled one to have an opinion about everything
on earth and in heaven, and his own Copenhagen in the
thirties of the last century, when Johan Ludvig Heiberg
had popularized Hegelian philosophy with such astonishing
success that the very cobblers were using the Hegelian ter-
minology, with "Thesis, Antithesis, and Synthesis," and
one could get instructions from one's barber, while being
shaved, how to "harmonize the ideal with reality, and our
wishes with what we have attained." Every difficulty could
be "mediated," according to this recipe. And just as the
great questioner of Athens gave pause to his more naive
contemporaries by his "know thyself," so Kierkegaard in-
sisted that he must rouse his contemporaries from their
philosophic complacency and unwarranted optimism, and
move them to realize that the spiritual life has both moun-
tain and valley, that it is no flat plain easy to travel. He
intended to show difficulties where the road had been sup-
posedly smoothed for them.

Central, both in the theory and in the practice of Socrates
(according to Kierkegaard), is his irony. The ancient
sage would stop old and young and quizz them skilfully on

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 17

what they regarded as common and universally established
propositions, until his interlocutor became confused by some
consequence or contradiction arising unexpectedly, and
until he who had been sure of his knowledge was made to
confess his ignorance, or even to become distrustful of the
possibility of knowledge. Destroying supposedly positive
values, this method would seem to lead to a negative re-
sult only.

Kierkegaard makes less (and rather too little) of the
positive side of Socrates' method, his maieutic, or mid-
wifery, by which we are led inductively from trivial in-
stances to a new definition of a conception, a method
which will fit all cases. Guided by a lofty personality, this
Socratic irony becomes, in Kierkegaard's definition, merely
"the negative liberation of subjectivity" ; that is, not the
family, nor society, nor the state, nor any rules superim-
posed from outside, but one's innermost self (or subjectiv-
ity) is to be the determining factor in one's life. And un-
derstood thus, irony as a negative element borders on the
ethical conception of life.

Romantic irony, on the other hand, laying main stress
on subjective liberty, represents the aesthetic conduct of
life. It was, we remember, the great demand of the Ro-
mantic period that one live poetically. That is, after hav-
ing reduced all reality to possibilities, all existence to frag-
ments, we are to choose ad libitum one such possible ex-
istence, to consider that one's proper sphere, and for the
rest to look ironically on all other reality as philistine.
Undeniably, this license, through the infinitude of possibil-
ities open to him, gives the ironist an enthusiastic sense of
irresponsible freedom in which he "disports himself as does
Leviathan in the deep." Again, the "ajsthetical individual"
is ill at ease in the world into which he is born. His typical
ailment is a Byronesque Weltschmerz. He would fain
mould the elements of existence to suit himself; that, is,
"compose" not only himself but also his surroundings. But
without fixed task and purpose, life will soon lose all con-
tinuity ("except that of boredom") and fall apart into dis-
connected moods and impulses. Hence, while supposing

18 University of Texas Bulletin

himself a superman, free, and his own master, the aesthetic
individual is, in reality, a slave to the merest accidents.
He is not self -directed, self-propelled; but — drifts.

Over against this attitude Kierkegaard now sets the
ethical. Christian life, one with a definite purpose and goal
beyond itself. "It is one thing to compose one's own life,
another, to let one's life be composed. The Christian lets
his life b e composed ; and insofar a simple Christian lives
far more poetically than many a genius." It would hardly
be possible to characterize the contents of Kierkegaard's
first great book, Enten — Eller "Either — Or," more inclu-
sively and tersely.

Very well, then, the Christian life, with its clear direc-
tive, is superior to the aesthetic existence. But how is this :
are we not all Christians in Christendom, children of Chris-
tians, baptized and confirmed according to the regulations
of the Church? And are we not all to be saved according
to the promise of Our Lord who died for us? At a very
early time Kierkegaard, himself desperately struggling to
maintain his Christian faith against doubts, had his eyes
opened to this enormous delusion of modern times and was
preparing to battle against it. The great idea and task
for which he was to live and to die — here it was : humanity
is in apparent possession of the divine truth, but utterly
perverts it and, to cap injury with insult, protects and in-
trenches the deception behind state sanction and institu-
tions. More appalling evil confronted not even the early
protagonists of Christianity against heathendom. How
w&s he, single-handed, magnificently gifted though he was,
to cleanse the temple and restore its pristine simplicity?

Clearly, the old mistake must not be repeated, to try to
influence and reform the masses by a vulgar and futile
"revival," preaching to them directly and gaining disciples
innumerable. It would only lead agaiA to the abomination
of a lip service. But a ferment must be introduced which
— he hoped — would gradually restore Christianity to its
former vigor; at least in individuals. So far as the form
of his own works is concerned he was thus bound to use
the "indirect method" of Socrates whom he regards as his

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 19

teacher. In conscious opposition to the Sophists who sold
their boasted wisdom for money, Socrates not only made no
charges for his instruction but even warned people of his
ignorance, insisting that, like a midwife, he only helped
people to give birth to their own thoughts. And owing to
his irony Socrates' relation to his disciples was not in any
positive sense a personal one. Least of all did he wish to
found a new "school" or erect a philosophic "system."

Kierkegaard, with Christianity as his goal, adopted thb
same tactics. By an attractive aesthetic beginning people
were to be "lured" into envisaging the difficulties to be un-
folded presently, to think for themselves, to form their own
conclusions, whether for or against. The individual was
to be appealed to, first and last — the individual, no matter
how humble, who would take the trouble to follow him and
be his reader, "my only reader, the single individual."
"So the religious author must make it his first business to
put himself in touch with men. That is to say, he must
begin aesthetically. The more brilliant his performance,
the better." And then, when he has got them to follow
him "he must produce the religious categories so that these
same men with all the impetus of their devotion to aesthetic
things are suddenly broughiE up sharp against the religious
aspect." The writer's own personality was to be entirely
eliminated by a system of pseudonyms; for the effect of
his teaching was not to be jeopardized by a distracting
knowledge of his personality. Accordingly, in conscious
imitation of Socrates, Kierkegaard at first kept up a sem-
blance of his previous student life, posing as a frivolous
idler on the streets of Copenhagen, a witty dog incapable
of prolonged serious activity; thus anxiously guarding the
secret of his feverish activity during the lonely hours of
the night.

His campaign of the "indirect communication" was thus
fully determined upon; but there was still lacking the im-
petus of an elemental passion to start it and give it driving

20 University of Texas Bulletin

force and conquering persistence. This also was to be
furnished him.

Shortly before his father's death he had made the ac-
quaintance of Regine Olson, a beautiful young girl of good
family. There followed one of the saddest imaginable en-
gagements. The melancholy, and essentially lonely, thinker
may not at first have entertained the thought of a lasting
attachment; for had he not, on the one hand, given up all
hope of worldly happiness, and on the other, begun to think
of himself as a chosen tool of heaven not to be bound by
the ordinary ties of human affection? But the natural de-
sire to be as happy as others and to live man's common lot,
for a moment hushed all anxious scruples. And the love
of the brilliant and promising young man with the deep,
sad eyes and the flashing wit was ardently returned by her.

Difficulties arose very soon. It was not so much the ex-
treme youth and immaturity of the girl — she was barely
sixteen — as against his tremendous mental development,
or even her "total lack of religious pre-suppositions" ; for
that might not itself have precluded a happy union. Vastly
more ominous was his own unconquerable and overwhelm-
ing melancholy. She could not break it. And struggle as
he might, he could not banish it. And, he reasoned, even
if he were successful in concealing it from her, the very
concealment were a deceit. Neither would he burden her
with his melancholy by revealing it to her. Besides, some
mysterious ailment which, with Paul, he terms the "thorn
in his flesh," tormented him. The fact that he consulted
a physician makes it likely that it was bodily, and perhaps
sexual. On the other hand, the manner of Kierkegaard*s
multitudinous references to woman removes the suspicion
of any abnormality. The impression remains that at the
bottom of his trouble there lay his melancholy, aggravated
admittedly by an "insane education," and coupled with an
exaggerated sense of a misspent youth. That nothing else
prevented the union is clear from his own repeated later
remarks that, with more faith, he would have married her.

Though to the end of his life he never ceased to love
her, he feels that they must part. But she clings to him

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 21

with a rather maudlin devotion, which, to be sure, only in-
creased his determination. He finally hit on the desperate
device of pretending frivolous indifference to her affections,
and acted this sad comedy with all the dialectic subtleness
of his genius, until she eventually released him. Then, after
braving for a while the philistine indignation of public
opinion and the disapproval of his friends, in order to con-
firm her in her bad opinion of him, he fled to Berlin with
shattered nerves and a bleeding heart.

He had deprived himself of what was dearest to him in
life. For all that, he knew that the foundations of his
character remained unshaken. The voluntary renuncia-
tion of a worldly happiness which was his for the taking
intensifies his idea of being one of the "few in each genera-
tion selected to be a sacrifice." Thereafter, "his thought
is all to him," and all his gifts are devoted to the service
of God.

During the first half of the nineteenth century, more than
at any other time, Denmark was an intellectual dependency
of Germany. It was but natural that Kierkegaard, in
search for the ultimate verities, should resort to Berlin
where Schelling was just then beginning his famous course
of lectures. In many respects it may be held deplorable
that, at a still formative stage, Kierkegaard should have
remained in the prosaic capital of Prussia and have been
influenced by bloodless abstractions; instead of journeying
to France, or still better, to England whose empiricism
would, no doubt, have been an excellent corrective of his
excessive tendency to speculation. In fact he was quickly
disappointed with Schelling and after four months returned
to his beloved Copenhagen (which he was not to leave
thereafter except for short periods), with his mind still
busy on the problems which were peculiarly his own. The
tremendous impulse given by his unfortunate engagement
was sufficient to stimulate his sensitive mind to a produc-
tivity without equal in Danish literature, to create a "lit-
erature within a literature." The fearful inner collision

22 University of Texas Bulletin

of motives had lit an inner conflagration which did not
die down for years. "My becoming an author is due chiefly
to her, my melancholy, and my money."

About a year afterwards (1843) there appeared his first
great work, "Either — Or," which at once established his
fame. As in the case of most of his works it will be im-
possible to give here more than the barest outline of its
plan and contents. In substance, it is a grand debate be-
tween the aesthetic and the ethic views of life. In his dis-
sertation Kierkegaard had already characterized the aes-
thetic point of view. Now, in a brilliant series of articles,
he proceeds' to exemplify it with exuberant detail.

The fundamental chord of the first part is struck in the
Diapsalmata — aphorisms which, like so many flashes of a
lantern, illuminate the aesthetic life, its pleasures and its
despair. The aesthetic individual — this is brought out in
the article entitled "The Art of Rotation" — wishes to be
the exception in human society, shirking its common, hum-
ble duties and claiming special privileges. He has no fixed
principle except that he means not to' be bound to anything
or anybody. He has but one desire which is, to enjoy the
sweets of life — whether its purely sensual pleasures or the
more refined Epicureanism of the finer things in life and
art, and the ironic enjoyment of one's own superiority over
the rest of humanity; and he has no fear except that he
may succumb to boredom.

As a comment on this text there follow a number of
essays in "experimental psychology," supposed to be the
fruit of the aesthete's (A's) leisure. In them the aesthetic
life is exhibited in its various manifestations, in "terms of
existence," especially as to its "erotic stages," from the
indefinite longings of the Page to the fully conscious "sen-
sual genius" of Don Juan — the examples are taken from
Mozart's opera of this name, which was Kierkegaard's
favorite — until the whole culminates in the famous "Diary
of the Seducer," containing elements of the author's own
engagement, poetically disguised — a seducer, by the way,
of an infinitely reflective kind.

Following this climax of unrestrained aestheticism we

Selections from the WHtings of Kierkegaard 23

hear in the second part the stern demands of the ethical
life. Its spokesman, Judge William, rises in defense of
the social institutes, and of marriage in particular, against
the slurs cast on them by his young friend A. He makes
it clear that the only possible outcome of the aesthetic life,
with its aimlessness, its superciliousness, its vague possi-
bilities, is a feeling of vanity and vexation of spirit, and a
hatred of life itself: despair. One floundering in this in-
evitable slough of despond, who earnestly wishes to escape
from it and to save himself from the ultimate destruction
of his personality, must choose and determine to rise into
the ethical sphere. That is, he must elect a definite calling,
no matter how humdrum, marry, if possible, and thus sub-
ject himself to the "general law." In a word, instead of a
world of vague possibilities, however attractive, he must
choose the definite circumscription of the individual who
is a member of society. Only thus will he obtain a balance
in his life between the demands of his personality on the
one hand, and of the demands of society on him. When
thus reconciled to his environment — his "lot"-;— all the
pleasures of the aesthetic sphere which he resigned will be
his again in rich measure, but in a transfigured sense.

Though nobly eloquent in places, and instinct with warm
feeling, this panegyric on marriage and the fixed duties of
life is somewhat unconvincing, and its style undeniably tame
and unctious — at least when contrasted with the Satanic
verve of most of A's papers. The fact is that Kierkegaard,
when considering the ethical sphere, in order to carry out
his plan of contrasting it with the aesthetic sphere, was al-
ready envisaging the higher sphere of religion, to which
the ethical sphere is but a transition, and which is the only
true alternative to the aesthetic life. At the very end of
the book Kierkegaard, flying his true colors, places a ser-
mon as an "ultimatum," purporting to have been written
by a pastor on the Jutish Heath. Its text is that "as against
God we are always in the wrong," and the tenor of it, "only
that truth which edifies is truth for you." It is not that
you must choose either the aesthetic o r the ethical view
of life; but that neither the one nor the other is the full

24 University of Texas Bulletin

truth — God alone is the truth which must be grasped with
all inwardness. But since we recognize our imperfections,
or sins, the more keenly, as we are developed more highly,
our typical relation to God must be that of repentance;
and by repentance as by a step we may rise into the higher
sphere of religion — as will -be seen, a purely Christian
thought.

A work of such powerful originality, imposing by its
very size, and published at the anonymous author's own ex-
pense, could not but create a stir among the small Danish
reading public. And notwithstanding Kierkegaard's con-
sistent efforts to conceal his authorship in the interest of
his "indirect communication," it could not long remain a
secret. The book was much, and perplexedly, discussed,
though no one was able to fathom the author's real aim,
most readers being attracted by piquant subjects such as
the "Diary of the Seducer," and regarding the latter half
as a feeble afterthought. As he said himself: "With my
left hand I held out to the world 'Either — Or,' with my
right, Two Edifying Discourses'; but they all — or prac-
tically all — seized with their right hands what I held in my
left."

These "Two Edifying Discourses,"* — for thus he pre-
ferred to call them, rather than sermons, because he claimed
no authority to preach — as well as all the many later ones,
were published over his own name, addressed to Den
Enkelte "The Single Individual" "whom with joy and grati-
tude he calls his reader," and were dedicated to the memory
of his father. They belong among the noblest books of
edification, of which the North has not a few.

During the following three years (1843-5) Kierkegaard,
once roused to productivity, though undoubtedly kept at
his task by the exertion of marvellous will-power, wrote in
quick succession some of his most notable works — so orig-
inal in form, in thought, in content that it is a well-nigh
hopeless task to analyze them to any satisfaction. All we

iNot "Discourses for Edification," cf. the Foreword to Atten
Opbyggelige Taler, S. V. vol. iv.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 25

can do here is to note the development in them of the one
grand theme which is fundamental to all his literary ac-
tivity: how to become a Christian.

If the second part of "Either — Or" was devoted to an
explanation of the nature of the ethical, as against the
aesthetic, conduct of life, inevitably the next task was, first,
to define the nature of the religious life, as against the
merely ethical life; then, to show how the religious sphere
may be attained. This is done in the brilliant twin books
Frijgt og Baeven "Fear and Trembling" and Gjentagelsen
"Repetition." Both were published over pseudonyms.

"Fear and Trembling" bears as its subtitle "Dialectic
Lyrics." Indeed, nowhere perhaps is Kierkegaard's strange
union of dialectic subtlety and intense lyrical power and
passion so strikingly in evidence as in this panegyric on
Abraham, the father of faith. To Kierkegaard he is the
shining exemplar of the religious life ; and his greatest act
of faith, his obedience to God's command to slay Isaac.
Nothing can surpass the eloquence with which he depicts
the agony of the father, his struggle betw^een the ethical,
or general, law which saith "thou shalt no kill" ! and God's
specific command. In the end, Abraham by a grand re-
solve transgresses the law; and lo! because he has faith,
against certainty, that he will keep Isaac, and does not
merely resign him, as many a tragic hero would have done,
he receives all again, in a new and higher sphere. In other
words, Abraham chooses to be "the exception" and set
aside the general law, as well as does the aesthetic individ-
ual; but, note well: "in fear and trembling," and at the
express command of God! He is a "knight of faith." But
because this direct relation to the divinity necessarily can
be certain only to Abraham's self, his action is altogether
incomprehensible to others. Reason recoils before the ab-
solute paradox of the individual who chooses to rise superior
to the general law.

The rise into the religious sphere is always likely to be
the outcome of some severe inner conflict engendering in-
finite passion. In the splendidly written Gjentagelse

26 University of Texas Bulletin

"Repetition" we are shown ad oculos an abortive transition
into the religious sphere, with a corresponding relapse into
the aesthetic sphere. Kierkegaard's own love-story is again
drawn upon : the "Young Person" ardently loves the woman ;
but discovers to his consternation that she is in reality but
a burden to him since, instead of having an actual, living
relation to her, he merely "remembers" her when she is
present. In the ensuing collision of motives his aesthetically
cool friend Constantin Constantius advises him to act as
one unworthy of her — as did Kierkegaard — and to forget
her. But instead of following this advice, and lacking a
deeper religious background, he flees the town and subse-
quently transmutes his trials into poetry — ^that is, relapses
into the aesthetic sphere: rather than, like Job, whom he
apostrophises passionately, "receiving all again" (having
all "repeated") in a higher sphere. This idea of the re-
sumption of a lower stage into a higher one is one of Kierk-
egaard's most original and fertile thoughts. It is illustrated
here with an amazing wealth of instances.

So far, it had been a question of religious feeling in gen-
eral— how it may arise, and what its nature is. In the
pivotal work Philosophiske Smuler "Philosophic Trifles" —
note the irony — Kierkegaard throws the searching rays of
his penetrating intellect on the grand problem of revealed
religion: can one's eternal salvation be based on an his-
torical event? This is the great stumbling block to the
understanding.

Hegel's philosophic optimism maintained that the diffi-
culties of Christianity had been completely "reconciled" or
"mediated" in the supposedly higher synthesis of philos-
ophy, by which process religion had been reduced to terms
which might be grasped by the intellect. Kierkegaard,
fully, voicing the claim both of the intellect and of religion,
erects the barrier of the paradox, impassable except by
the act of faith. As will be seen, this is Tertullian's Credo
quia ahsurdum.^

■>De Cat-ne Christi, chap. V, as my friend, Professor A. E, Haydon,
kindly points out.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 27

In the briefest possible outline his argument is as fol-
lows : Socrates had taught that in reality every one had the
truth in him and needed but to be r e m i n d e d of it by
the teacher who thus is necessary' only in helping the dis-
ciple to discover it himself. That is the indirect commu-
nication of the truth. But now suppose that the truth is
not innate in man, suppose he has merely the ability to
grasp it when presented to him. And suppose the teacher
to be of absolute, infinite importance — ^the Godhead him-
self, directly communicating with man, revealing the truth
in the shape of man; in fact, as the lowliest of men, yet
insisting on implicit belief in Him! This, according to
Kierkegaard, constitutes the paradox of faith par excellence.
But this paradox, he shows, existed for the generation
contemporaneous with Christ in the same manner as it does
for those living now. To think that faith was an easier
matter for those who saw the Lord and walked in His
blessed company is but a sentimental, and fatal, delusion.
On the other hand, to found one's faith on the glorious re-
sults, now evident, of Christ's appearance in the world is
sheer thoughtlessness and blasphemy. With ineluctable
cogency it follows that "there can be no disciple at second
hand." Now, as well as "1800 years ago," whether in
Heathendom or in Christendom, faith is born of the same
conditions : the resolute acceptance by the individual of the
absolute paradox.

In previous works Kierkegaard had already intimated
that what furnished man the impetus to rise into the high-
est sphere and to assail passionately and incessantly the
barrier of the paradox, or else caused him to lapse into
"demonic despair," was the consciousness of sin. In the
book Begrebet Angest "The Concept of Sin," he now at-
tempts with an infinite and laborious subtlety to explain
the nature of sin. Its origin is found in the "sympathetic
antipathy" of Dread — ^that force which at one and the same
time attracts and repels from the suspected danger of a
fall and is present even in the state of innocence, in chil-
dren. It finally results in a kind of "dizziness" which is
fatal. Yet, so Kierkegaard contends, the "fall" of man is,

28 University of Texas Bulletin

in every single instance, due to a definite act of the will,
a "leap" — which seems a patent contradiction.

To the modern reader, this is the least palatable of Kierke-
gaard's works, conceived as it is with a sovereign and al-
most medieval disregard of the predisposing undeniable
factors of environment and heredity (which, to be sure,
poorly fit his notion of the absolute responsibility of the
individual). Its sombreness is redeemed, to a certain de-
gree, by a series of marvellous observations, drawn from
history and literature, on the various phases and manifes-
tations of Dread in human life.

On the same day as the book just discussed there ap-
peared, as a "counter-irritant," the hilariously exuberant
Forord "Forewords," a collection of some eight playful but
vicious attacks, in the form of prefaces, on various foolish
manifestations of Hegelianism in Denmark. They are
aimed chiefly at the high-priest of the "system," the poet
Johan Ludvig Heiberg who, as the arbiter elegantiarum
of the times had presumed to review, with a plentiful lack
of insight, Kierkegaard's activity. But some of the
most telling shots are fired at a number of the individualist
Kierkegaard's pet aversions.

His next great work, Stadier paa Livets Vei "Stages on
Life's Road," forms a sort of resume of the results so far
gained. The three "spheres" are more clearly elaborated.

The aesthetic sphere is represented existentially by the in-
comparable In Vino Veritas, generally called "The Ban-
quet," from a purely literary point of view the most per-
fect of Kierkegaard's works, which, if written in one of the
great languages of Europe, would have procured him world
fame. Composed in direct emulation of Plato's immortal
Symposion, it bears comparison with it as well as any mod-
ern composition can.° Indeed, it excels Plato's work in
subtlety, richness, and refined humor. To be sure, Kierke-
gaard has charged his creation with such romantic super-
abundance of delicate observations and rococo ornament
that the whole comes dangerously near being improbable;

"Cf. Brandes, S. K. p. 157.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 29

whereas the older work stands solidly in reality.

It is with definite purpose that the theme of the speeches
of the five participants in the banquet is love, i.e., the
relation of the two sexes in love; for it is there the main
battle between the aesthetic and the ethical view of life
must be fought out. Accordingly, Judge William, to whom
the last idyllic pages of "The Banquet" again introduce
us, in the second part breaks another shaft in defense of
marriage, which in the ethical view of life is the typical
realization of the "general law." Love exists also for the
ethical individual. In fact, love and no other consideration
whatsoever can justify marriage. But whereas to the
aesthetic individual love is merely eroticism, viz., a passing
self-indulgence without any obligation, the ethical individ-
ual attaches to himself the woman of his choice by an act
of volition, for better or for worse, and by his marriage
vow incurs an obligation to society. Marriage is thus a
synthesis of love and duty. A pity only that Kierkegaard's
astonishingly low evaluation of woman utterly mars what
would otherwise be a classic defence of marriage.

The religious sphere is shown forth in the third part,
Skijldig—Ikke-Skyldig "Guilty— Not-Guilty," with the apt
subtitle "A History of Woe." Working over, for the third
time, and in the most intense fashion, his own unsuccessful
attempt to "realize the general law," i.e., by marrying,
he here presents in the form of a diary the essential facts
of his own engagement, but in darker colors than in "Repe-
tition." It is broken because of religious incompatibility
and the lover's unconquerable melancholy; and by his vol-
untary renunciation, coupled with acute suffering through
his sense of guilt for his act, he is driven up to an approx-
imation of the religious sphere. Not unjustly, Kierkegaard
himself regarded this as the richest of his works.

One may say that "Guilty— Not-Guilty" corresponds to
Kierkegaard's own development at this stage. Christianity
is still above him. How may it be attained? This is the
grand theme of the huge book whimsically named "Final
Unscientific Postscript to the Philosophical Trifles,"
Afsluttende Uvidenskabelig EfterskHft (1846) : "How

30 University of Texas Bulletin

shall I become a Christian, I, Johannes Climacus, born in
this city, thirty years of age, and not in any way different
from the ordinary run of men"?

Following up the results gained in the "Trifles," the sub-
jectivity of faith is established once for all: it is not to be
attained by swearing to any set of dogmas, not even Scrip-
ture ; for who will vouch for its being an absolutely reliable
and inspired account of Christ? Besides, as Lessing had
demonstrated conclusively: historic facts never can become
the proof of eternal verities. Nor can the existence of the
Church through the ages furnish any guarantee for faith —
straight counter to the opinion held by Kierkegaard's fa-
mous contemporary Grundtvig — any more than can mere
contemporaneousness establish a guarantee for those living
at the beginning. To sum up: "One who has an objective
Christianity and nothing else, he is eo ipso a heathen." For
the same reason, "philosophic speculation" is not the proper
approach, since it seeks to understand Christianity objec-
tively, as an historic phenomenon — which rules it out from
the start.

It is only by a decisive "leap," from objective thinking
into subjective faith, with the consciousness of sin as the
driving power, that the individual may realize (we would
say, attain) Christianity. Nor is it gained once for all, but
must ever be maintained by passionately assailing the para-
dox of faith, which is, that one's eternal salvation is based
on an historic fact. The main thing always is the "how,"
not the "what." Kierkegaard goes so far as to say that he
who with fervency and inwardness prays to some false
god is to be preferred to him who worships the true god,
but without the passion of devotion.

In order to prevent any misunderstanding about the man-
ner of presentation in this remarkable book, it will be well
to add Kierkegaard's own remark after reading a con-
scientious German review of his "Trifles": "Although the
account given is correct, every one who reads it will obtain
an altogether incorrect impression of the book ; because the
account the critic gives is in the ex cathedra style {docer-
ende), which will produce on the reader the impression that

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 31

the book is written in a like manner. But this is in my
eyes the worst misconception possible." And as to its pe-
culiar conversational, entertaining manner which in the
most leisurely, legere fashion and in an all but dogmatic
style treats of the profoundest problems, it is well to recall
the similarly popular manner of Pascal in his Lettres
Provinciales. Like him — and his grand prototype Socrates —
Kierkegaard has the singular faculty of attacking the most
abstruse matters with a chattiness bordering on frivolity,
yet without ever losing dignity.

For four and a half years Kierkegaard had now, not-
withstanding his feeble health, toiled feverishly and, as he
himself states, without even a single day's remission. And
"the honorarium had been rather Socratic" : all of his books
had been brought out at his own expense, and their sale had
been, of course, small. (Of the "Final Postscript," e.g.,
which had cost him between 500 and 600 rixdollars, only
60 copies were sold) . Hardly any one had understood what
the purpose of this "literature" was. He himself had done,
with the utmost exertion and to the best of his ability, what
he set out to do : to show his times, which had assumed that
being a Christian is an easy enough matter, how unspeak-
ably difficult a matter it really is and what terribly severe
demands it makes on natural man. He now longed for rest
and seriously entertained the plan of bringing his literary
career to a close and spending the remainder of his days
as a pastor of some quiet country parish, there to convert
his philosophy into terms of practical existence. But this
was not to be. An incident which would seem ridicuously
small to a more robust nature suflaced to inflict on Kierke-
gaard's sensitive mind the keenest tortures and thus to
sting him into a renewed and more passionate literary
activity.

As it happened, the comic paper Korsaren "The Corsair"
was then at the heyday of its career. The first really dem-
ocratic periodical in Denmark, it stood above party lines
and through its malicious, brilliant satire and amusing car-

32 University of Texas Bulletin

icatures of prominent personalities was hated, feared, and
enjoyed by everybody. Its editor, the Jewish author Meir
Goldschmidt, was a warm and outspoken admirer of the
philosopher. Kierkegaard, on the other hand, had long
regarded the Press with suspicion. He loathed it because
it gave expression to, and thus subtly flattered, the multi-
tude, "the public," "the mob" — as against the individual,
and because it worked with the terrible weapon of anonym-
ity; but held it especially dangerous by reason of its enor-
mous circulation and daily repetition of mischievous false-
hoods. So it seemed to him who ever doubted the ability of
the "people" to think for themselves. In a word, the Press
is to him "the evil principle in the modern world." Need-
less to say, the tactics of "The Corsair," in particular, in-
furiated him.

In a Christmas annual (1845) there had appeared a
blundering review, by one of the collaborators on "The Cor-
sair," of his "Stages on Life's Road." Seizing the oppor-
tunity offered, Kierkegaard wrote a caustic rejoinder, add-
ing the challenge: "Would that I now soon appear in The
Corsair.' It is really hard on a poor author to be singled
out in Danish literature by remaining the only one who is
not abused in it." We know now that Goldschmidt did his
best in a private interview to ward off a feud, but when
rebuffed he turned the batteries of his ridicule on the per-
sonality of his erstwhile i^ol. And for the better part of a
year the Copenhagen public was kept laughing and grin-
ning about the unequal trouser legs, the spindle shanks, the
inseparable umbrella, the dialectic propensities, of "Either
— Or," as Kierkegaard came to be called by the populace;
for, owing to his peripatetic habits — acquired in connection
with the Indirect Communication — he had long been a fa-
miliar figure on the streets of the capital. While trying to
maintain an air of indifference, he suffered the tortures of
the damned. In his Journal (several hundred of whose
pages are given over to reflections on this experience) we
find exclamations such as this one : "What is it to be roasted
alive at a slow fire, or to be broken on the wheel or, as they
do in warm climates, to be smeared with honey and put at

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 33

the mercy of the insects — what is that in comparison with
this torture : to be grinned to death !"

There could be no thought now of retiring to a peaceful
charge in the country. That would have been fleeing from
persecution. Besides, unbeknown perhaps to himself, his
pugnacity was aroused. While under the influence of the
"Corsair Feud" (as it is known in Danish literature) he
completes the booklet "A Literary Review." This was orig-
inally intended as a purely aesthetic evaluation and appre-
ciation of the (then anonymous) author" of the Hverdags-
historier "Commonplace Stories" that are praised by him
for their thoughtful bodying forth of a consistent view of
life which — howevei> different from his own — yet com-
manded his respect. He now appended a series of bitter
reflections on the Present Times, paying his respects to the
Press, which he calls incomparably the worst offender in
furnishing people with cheap irony, in forcibly levelling out
and reducing to mediocrity all those who strive to rise above
it intellectually — words applicable, alas ! no less to our own
times. To him, however, who in a religious sense has be-
come the captain of his soul, the becoming a butt of the
Press is but a true test. Looking up, Kierkegaard sees in
his own fate the usual reward accorded by mankind to the
courageous souls who dare to fight for the truth, for the
ideal — for Christianity, against the "masses." In a mod-
ern way, through ridicule, he was undergoing the martyr-
dom which the blood witnesses of old had undergone for the
sake of their faith. Their task it had been to preach the
Gospel among the heathen. His, he reasoned, was in no-
wise easier: to make clear to uncomprehending millions of
so-called Christians that they were not Christians at all,
that they did not even know what Christianity is : suffering
and persecution, as he now recognizes, being inseparable
from the truly Christian life.

First, then, the road had to be cleared, emphatically, for
the truth that Christianity and "the public" are opposite
terms. The collection of "Edifying Discourses in Diverse

'Mrs. Thomasine Gyllembourg-Ehrensvard.

34 University of Texas Bulletin

Spirits" is thus a religious parallel to the polemic in his
"Review." The first part of these meditations has for its
text : "The purity of the heart consists in willing one thing"
— and this one thing is necessarily the good, the ideal; but
only he who lives his life as the individual can pos-
sibly will the good — else it is lived in duplicity, for the
world will share his aspirations, he will bid for the rewards
which the bowing before the crowd can give him. In the
second part, entitled "What we may learn from the Lilies
of the Field and the Birds of the Air" — one of Kierke-
gaard's favorite texts — ^the greatest danger to the ethico-
religious life is shown to be the uneasiness about our ma-
terial welfare which insidiously haupts our thought-life,
and, notwithstanding our best endeavors, renders us essen-
tially slaves to "the crowd"; whereas it is given to man,
created in the image of God, to be as self-contained, una-
fraid, hopeful as are (symbolically) the lily and the bird.
The startlingly new development attained through his re-
cent experiences is most evident in the third part, "The
Gospel of Sufferings," in which absolute stress is laid on
the imitation of Christ in the strictest sense. Only the
"individual" can compass this : the narrow way to salvation
must be traveled alone; and will lead to salvation only if
the world is, literally, overcome in persecution and tribu-
lation. And, on the other hand, to be happy in this world
is equivalent to forfeiting salvation. Thus briefly outlined,
the contents of this book would seem to be sheer monkish
asceticism; but no synopsis, however full, can hope to give
an idea of its lyrical pathos, its wealth of tender reflections,
the great love tempering the stern severity of its teaching.

With wonderful beauty "The Deeds of Love" (Kjerlighe-
dens Gjerninger) (1847) are exalted as the Christian's help
and salvation against the tribulations of the world — love,
not indeed of the human kind, but of man through God.
"You are not concerned at all with what others do to you,
but only with what you do to others ; and also, with how you
react to what others do to you — ^you are concerned, essen-
tially, only with yourself, before God."

In rapid succession there follow "Christian Discourses" ;

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 35

"The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air" ; "Sickness
Unto Death" (with the sub-title "A Christian Psycholog-
ical Exposition"); "Two Religious Treatises"; "The High
Priest, the Publican, the Sinner" ; "Three Discourses on the
Occasion of Communion on Friday."

In the course of these reflections it had become increas-
ingly clear to Kierkegaard that the self-constituted repre-
sentative of Christ — the Church or, to mention only the or-
ganization he was intimately acquainted with, the Danish
State Church — had succeeded in becoming a purely worldly
organization whose representatives, far from striving to
follow Christ, had made life quite comfortable for them-
selves ; retort to which was presently made that by thus
stressing "contemporaneousness" with its aspects of suffer-
ing and persecution, Kierkegaard had both exceeded the ac-
cepted teaching of the Church and staked the attainment of
Christianity so high as to drive all existing forms of it
dd absurdum.

In his hidovelse i Christendom "Preparation for a Chris-
tian Life" and the somber Til Selvprovelse "For a Self-Ex-
amination" Kierkegaard returns to the attack with a pow-
erful re-examination of the whole question as to how far
modern Christianity corresponds to that of the Founder.
Simply, but with grandiose power, he works out in concrete
instances the conception of "contemporaneousness" gained
in the "Final Postscript" ; at the same time demonstrating
to all who have eyes to see, the axiomatic connection between
the doctrine of Propitiation and Christ's life in debasement ;
that Christianity consists in absolutely dying to the world ;
and that the Christianity which does not live up to this is
but a travesty on Christianity. We may think what we
please about this counsel of perfection, and judge what we
may about the rather arbitrary choice of Scripture passages
on which Kierkegaard builds : no serious reader, no sincere
Christian can escape the searching of heart sure to follow
this tremendous arraignment of humanity false to its divine
leader. There is nothing more impressive in all modern
literature than the gallery of "opinions" voiced by those ar-

36 University of Texas Bulletin

rayed against Christ when on earth — and now — as to what
constitutes the "offense."

Kierkegaard had hesitated a long time before publishing
the "Preparation for a Christian Life." Authority-loving
as he was, he shrank from antagonizing the Church, as it
was bound to do; and more especially, from giving offense
to its primate, the venerable Bishop Mynster who had been
his father's friend and spiritual adviser, to whom he had
himself always looked up with admiring reverence, and
whose sermons he had been in the habit of reading at all
times. Also, to be sure, he was restrained by the thought
that by publishing his book he would render Christianity
well-night unattainable to the weak and the simple and the
afflicted who certainly were in need of the consolations of
Christianity without any additional sufferings interposed —
and surely no reader of his devotional works can be in
doubt that he was the most tender-hearted of men. In
earlier, stronger times, he imagines, he would have been
made a martyr for his opinions ; but was he entitled
to become a blood-witness — he who realized more keenly
than any one that he himself was not a Christian in the
strictest sense? In his "Two Religious Treatises" he de-
bates the question : "Is it permissible for a man to let him-
self be killed for the truth?" ; which is answered in the neg-
ative in "About the Difference between a Genius and an
Apostle" — which consists in the Apostle's speaking with au-
thority. However, should not the truth be the most im-
portant consideration? His journal during that time offers
abundant proof of the absolute earnestness with which he
struggled over the question.

When Kierkegaard finally published "The Preparation
for a Christian Life," the bishop was, indeed, incensed ; but
he did nothing. Nor did any one else venture forth. Still
worse affront! Kierkegaard had said his last word, had
stated his ultimatum — and it was received with indiffer-
ence, it seemed. Nevertheless he decided to wait and see
what effect his books would have for he hesitated to draw

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 37

the last conclusions and mortally wound the old man totter-
ing on the brink of his grave by thus attacking the Church.
There followed a three years' period of silence on the part
of Kierkegaard — again certainly a proof of his utter sin-
cerity. It must be remembered, in this connection, that the
very last thing Kierkegaard desired was an external re-
organization, a "reform," of the Church — indeed, he firmly
refused to be identified with any movement of secession,
differing in this respect vitally from his contemporaries
Vinet and Grundtvig who otherwise had so much in common
with him. His only wish was to infuse life and inwardness
into the existing forms. And far from being inferior to
them in this he was here at one with the Founder and the
Early Church in that he states the aim of the Christian
Life to be, not to transform the existing social order, but
to transcend it. For the very same reason, coupled to be
sure with a pronounced aristocratic individualism, he is ut-
terly and unreasonably indifferent, and even antagonistic,
to the great social movements of his time, to the political
upheavals of 1848, to the revolutionary advances of science.

As Kierkegaard now considered his career virtually con-
cluded, he wrote (1851) a brief account "About my Activ-
ity as an Author" in which he furnishes his readers a key
to its unfolding — f r o m an aesthetic view t o the religious
view — which he considers his own education by Providence ;
and indicates it to be his special task to call atten-
t.i o n, without authority, to the religious, the Christian life.
His "Viewpoint for my Activity as an Author," published
by his brother only long after his death, likewise defines the
purpose of the whole "authorship," besides containing im-
portant biographical material.

At length (January, 1854) Mynster died. Even then
Kierkegaard, though still on his guard, might not have felt
called upon to have recourse to stronger measures if it had
not been for an unfortunate sentence in the funeral sermon
preached by the now famous Martensen — generally pointed
out as the successor to the primacy — with whom Kierke-
gaard had already broken a lance or two. Martensen had
declared Mynster to have been "one of the holy chain of

38 University of Texas Bulletin

witnesses for the truth (sandhedsvidner) which extends
through the centuries down from the time of the Apostles."
This is the provocation for which Kierkegaard had waited.
"Bishop Mynster a witness for the truth"! he bursts out,
"You who read this, you know well what in a Christian
sense is a witness for the truth. Still, let me remind you
that to be one, it is absolutely essential to suffer for the
teaching of Christianity" ; whereas "the truth is that Myn-
ster was wordly-wise to a degree — was weak, pleasure-
loving, and great only as a declaimer." But once more —
striking proof of his circumspection and single-mindedness
— he kept this harsh letter in his desk for nine months,
lest its publication should interfere in the least with Mar-
tensen's appointment, or seem the outcome of personal re-
sentment.

Martensen's reply, which forcefully enough brings out all
that could be said for a milder interpretation of the Christian
categories and for his predecessor, was not as respectful
to the sensitive author as it ought to have been. In a num-
ber of newspaper letters of increasing violence and acerbity
Kierkegaard now tried to force his obstinately silent op-
ponent to his knees ; but in vain. Filled with holy wrath at
what he conceived to be a conspiracy by silence, and evasions
to bring to naught the whole infinitely important matter for
which he had striven, Kierkegaard finally turned agitator.
He addressed himself directly to the people with the cele-
brated pamphlet series Oieblikket "The Present Moment"
in which he opens an absolutely withering fire of invective
on anything and everything connected with "the existing
order" in Christendom — an agitation the like of which for
revolutionary vehemence has rarely, if ever, been seen. All
rites of the Church — marriage, baptism, confirmation, com-
munion, burial — and most of all the clergy, high and low,
draw the fiery bolts of his wrath and a perfect hail of fierce,
cruel invective. The dominant note, though varied infinitely,
is ever the same : "Whoever you may be, and whatever the
life you live, my friend: by omitting to attend the public
divine service — if indeed it be your habit to attend it — by
omitting I to attend public divine service as now constituted

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 39

(claiming as it does to represent the Christianity of the
New Testament) you will escape at least one, and a great,
sin in not attempting to fool God by calling that the
Christianity of the New Testament which is not the Chris-
tianity of the New Testament." And he does not hesitate
to use strong, even coarse, language ; he even courts the re-
proach of blasphemy in order to render ridiculous in "Offi-
cial Christianity" what to most may seem inherently, though
mistakenly, a matter of highest reverence.

The swiftness and mercilessness of his attack seem to
have left his contemporaries without a weapon: all they
could do was to shrug their shoulders about the "fanatic,"
or to duck and wait dumbly until the storm had passed.

Nor did it last long. On the second of October, 1855,
Kierkegaard fell unconscious in the street. He was brought
to the hospital where he died on the eleventh of November,
aged 42. The immense exertions of the last months had
shattered his frail body. And strange : the last of his money
had been used up. He had said what he thought Provi-
dence had to communicate through him. His strength was
gone. His death at this moment would put the crown on
his work. As he said on his death-bed: "The bomb ex-
plodes, and the conflagration will follow."

In appraising Kierkegaard's life and works it will be
found true, as Hoffding says, that he can mean much even
to those who do not subscribe to the beliefs so unquestion-
ingly entertained by him. And however much they may
regret that he poured his noble wine into the old bottles,
they cannot fail to recognize the yeoman's service he did,
both for sincere Christians in compelling them to rehearse
inwardly what ever tends to become a matter of form : what
it means to be a Christian; and for others, in deepening
their sense of individual responsibility. In fact, every one
who has once come under his influence and has wrestled
with this mighty spirit will bear away some blessing. In
a time when, as in our own, the crowd, society, the millions,
the nation, had depressed the individual to an insignificant

40 University of Texas Bulletin

atom — and what is worse, in the individual's own estima-
tion; when shallow altruistic, socializing effort thought
naively that the millenium was at hand, he drove the truth
home that, on the contrary, the individual is the measure
of all things; that we do not live en masse; that both the
terrible responsibility and the great satisfactions of life in-
here in the individual. Again, more forcibly than any one
else in modern times, certainly more cogently than Pascal,
he demonstrated that the possibility of proof in religion is
an illusion ; that doubt cannot be combatted by reason, that
it ever will be c7^edo quia impossibile. In religion, he
showed the utter incompatibility of the aesthetic and the
religious life; and in Christianity, he re-stated and re-
pointed the principle of ideal perfection by his unremitting
insistence on contemporaneousness with Christ. It is an-
other matter whether by so doing Kierkegaard was about to
pull the pillars from underneath the great edifice of Chris-
tianity which housed both him and his enemies : seeing that
he himself finally doubted whether it had ever existed apart
from the Founder and, possibly, the Apostles.

Kierkegaard is not easy reading. One's first impression
of crabbedness, whimsicality, abstruseness will, however,
soon give way to admiration of the marvellous instrument
of precision language has become in his hands. To be
sure, he did not write for people who are in a hurry, nor
for dullards. His closely reasoned paragraphs and, at times
huge, though rhetorically faultless, periods require concen-
trated attention, his involutions and repetitions, handled
with such incomparable virtuosity, demand an everlasting
readiness of comprehension on the part of the reader. On
the other hand his philosophic work is delightfully "So-
cratic," unconventional, and altogether "un-textbooklike."
Kierkegaard himself wished that his devotional works
should be read aloud. And, from a purely aesthetic point
of view, it ought to be a delight for any orator to practice
on the wonderful periods of e. g., "The Preparation," or of.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 41

say, the parable of the coach-horses in "Acts of the Apos-
tles." They alone would be sufficient to place Kierkegaard
in the front rank of prose writers of the nineteenth cen-
tury where, both by the power of his utterance and the orig-
inality of his thought, he rightfully belongs.

In laying before an English speaking public selections
from Kierkegaard's works, the translator has endeavored
to give an adequate idea of the various aspects of his highly
disparate works. For this purpose he has chosen a few
large pieces, rather than given tidbits. He hopes to be
pardoned for not having a slavish regard for Kierkegaard's
very inconsequential paragraphing^ and for breaking, with
no detriment, he believes, to the thought, some excessively
long paragraphs into smaller units; which will prove more
restful to the eye and more encouraging to the reader. As
to occasional omissions — always indicated by dots — the pos-
sessor of the complete works will readily identify them.
In consonance with Kierkegaard's views on "contempora-
neousness," no capitals are used in "The Preparation" when
referring to Christ by pronouns.

When Kierkegaard died, his influence, like that of So-
crates, was just beginning to make itself felt. The complete
translation into German of all his works^ and of many into
other languages ; the magnificent new edition of his works^°
and of his extraordinarily voluminous diaries," now nearing
completion; and the steadily increasing number of books,
pamphlets, and articles from the most diverse quarters
testify to his reaching a growing number of individuals.
Below is given a list of the more important books and
articles on Kierkegaard. It does not aim at completeness.

sWith signal exception of "The Present Moment."
"In process of publication. Jena.

loSamlede Vaerker. Copenhagen, 1901-1906 (14 vols). In the
notes abbreviated S. V. Still another edition is preparing.
"Copenhagen, 1909 ff.

42 University of Texas Bulletin

Barthold, A. S. K., Eine Verfasserexistenz eigner Art.

Halberstadt, 1873.
Same : Noten zu S. K.'s Lebensgeschichte. Halle, 1876.
Same : Die Bedeutung der aesthetischen Schriften S. K.'s.

Halle, 1879.
Barfod, H. P. (Introduction to the first edition of the

Diary.) Copenhagen, 1869.
Bohlin, Th. S. K.'s Etiska Askadning. Uppsala, 1918.
Brandes, G. S. K., En kritisk Fremstilling i'Grundrids.

Copenhagen, 1877.
Same : German ed. Leipsic, 1879.

Deleuran, V. Esquisse d'une etude sur S. K. These, Uni-
versity of Paris, 1897.
Hoffding, H. S. K. Copenhagen, 1892.
Same: German edition (2nd). Stuttgart, 1902.
Hoffmann, R. K. und die religiose Gewissheit. Gottin-

gen, 1910.
Jensen, Ch. S. K.'s religiose Udvikling. Aarhus, 1898.
Monrad, 0. P. S. K. Sein Leben und seine Werke. Jena,

1909.
Miinch, Ph. Haupt und Grundgedanken der Philosophie

S. K.'s. Leipsic, 1902.
Rosenberg, P. A. S. K., hans Liv, hans Personlighed og

hans Forfatterskab. Copenhagen, 1898.
Rudin, W. S. K.'s Person och Forfatterskap. Fbrste

Afdelningen. Stockholm, 1880.
Schrempf, Ch. S. K.'s Stellung zu Bibel und Dogma.

Zeitschrift fur Theologie und Kirche, 1891, p. 179.
Same: S. K. Ein unfreier Pionier der Freiheit. (With a

foreword by Hoffding) Frankfort, 1909.
Swenson, D. The Anti-Intellectualism of K. Philosophic

Review, 1916, p. 567.

To my friends and colleagues, Percy M. Dawson and
Howard M. Jones, I wish also in this place to express my
thanks for help and criticism "in divers spirits."

DIAPSALMATA^

What is a poet? An unhappy man who conceals pro-
found anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so fashioned
that when sighs and groans pass over them they sound like
beautiful music. His fate resembJes that of the unhappy
men who were slowly roasted by a gentle fire in the tyrant
Phalaris' bull — their shrieks could not reach his ear to
terrify him, to him they sounded like sweet music. And
people flock about the poet and say to him : do sing again ;
which means, would that new sufferings tormented your
soul, and: would that your lips stayed fashioned as before,
for your cries would only terrify us, but your music is de-
lightful. And the critics join them, saying : well done, thus
must it be according to the laws of aesthetics. Why, to
be sure, a critic resembles a poet as one pea another, the
only difference being that he has no anguish in his heart
and no music on his lips. Behold, therefore would I rather
be a swineherd on Amager,- and be understood by the swine
than a poet, and misunderstood by men.

In addition to my numerous other acquaintances I have
still one more intimate friend — my melancholy. In the
midst of pleasure, in the midst of work, he beckons to me,
calls me aside, even though I remain present bodily. My
melancholy is the most faithful sweetheart I have had — no
wonder that I return the love !

^Interlude (of aphorisms). Selection.

2A flat island south of the capital, called the "Kitchen Garden of
Copenhagen."

44 University of Texas Bulletin

Of all ridiculous things the most ridiculous seems to me,
to be busy — to be a man who is brisk about his food and
his work. Therefore, whenever I see a fly settling, in the
decisive moment, on the nose of such a person of affairs;
or if he is spattered with mud from a carriage which drives
past him in still greater haste ; or the drawbridge opens up
before him ; or a tile falls down and knocks him dead, then
I laugh heartily. And who, indeed, could help laughing?
What, I wonder, do these busy folks get done? Are they
not to be classed with the woman who in her confusion
about the house being on fire carried out the fire-tongs?
What things of greater account, do you suppose, will they
rescue from life's great conflagration?

Let others complain that the times are wicked. I com-
plain that they are paltry; for they are without passion.
The thoughts of men are thin and frail like lace, and they
themselves are feeble like girl lace-makers. The thoughts
of their hearts are too puny to be sinful. For a worm it
might conceivably be regarded a sin to harbor thoughts
such as theirs, not for a man who is formed in the image of
God. Their lusts are staid and sluggish, their passions
sleepy; they do their duty, these sordid minds, but permit
themselves, as did the Jews, to trim the coins just the least
little bit, thinking that if our Lord keep tab of them ever
so carefully one might yet safely venture to fool him a bit.
Fye upon them! It is therefore my soul ever returns to
the Old Testament and to Shakespeare. There at least
one feels that one is dealing with men and women; there
one hates and loves, there one murders one's enemy and
curses his issue through all generations — ^there one sins.

Just as, according to the legend,"* Parmeniscus in the Tro-

^Told by Athenaios.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 45

phonian cave lost his ability to laugh, but recovered it again
on the island of Delos at the sight of a shapeless block which
was exhibited as the image of the goddess Leto: likewise
did it happen to me. When I was very young I forgot in
the Trophonian cave how to laugh ; but when I grew older
and opened my eyes and contemplated the real world, I had
to laugh, and have not ceased laughing, ever since. I be-
held that the meaning of life was to make a living ; its goal,
to become Chief Justice ; that the delights of love consisted
in marrying a woman with ample means; that it was the
blessedness of friendship to help one another in financial
difficulties; that wisdom was what most people supposed
it to be ; that it showed enthusiasm to make a speech, and
courage, to risk being fined 10 dollars ; that it was cordiality
to say "may it agree with you" after a repast; that it
showed piety to partake of the communion once a year. I
saw that and laughed.

A strange thing happened to me in my dream. I was
rapt into the Seventh Heaven. There sat all the gods as-
sembled. As a special dispensation I was granted the favor
to have one wish. "Do you wish for youth," said Mercury,
"or for beauty, or power, or a long life ; or do you wish for
the most beautiful woman, or any other of the many fine
things we have in our treasure trove ? Choose, but only one
thing!" For a moment I was at a loss. Then I addressed
the gods in this wise: "Most honorable contemporaries, I
choose one thing — that I may always have the laughs on
my side." Not one god made answer, but all began to laugh.
From this I concluded that my wish had been granted and
thought that the gods knew how to express themselves with
good taste; for it would surely have been inappropriate
to answer gravely; your wish has been granted.

IN VINO VERITAS (THE BANQUET)

It was on one of the last days in July, at ten o'clock in
the evening, when the participants in that banquet assem-
bled together. Date and year I have forgotten; indeed,
this would be interesting only to one's memory of details,
and not to one's recollection of the contents of what expe-
rience. The "spirit of the occasion" and whatever im-
pressions are recorded in one's mind under that heading,
concerns only one's recollections; and just as generous wine
gains in flavor by passing the Equator, because of the evap-
oration of its watery particles, likewise does recollection
gain by getting rid of the watery particles of memory;
and yet recollection becomes as little a mere figment of the
imagination by this process as does the generous wine.

The participants were five in number: John, with the
epithet of the Seducer, Victor Eremita, Constantin Constan-
tius, and yet two others whose names I have not exactly
forgotten — which would be a matter of small importance —
but whose names I did not learn. It was as if these two
had no proper names, for they were constantly addressed
by some epithet. The one was called the Young Person.
Nor was he more than twenty and some years, of slender
and delicate build, and of a very dark complexion. His
face was thoughtful ; but more pleasing even was its lovable
and engaging expression which betokened a purity of soul
harmonizing perfectly with the soft charm, almost fem-
inine, and the transparency of his whole presence. This
external beauty of appearance was lost sight of, however,
in one's next impression of him ; or, one kept it only in mind
whilst regarding a youth nurtured or — to use a still ten-
derer expression — petted into being, by thought, and nour-
ished by the contents of his own soul — a youth who as yet
had had nothing to do with the world, had been neither
aroused and fired, nor disquieted and disturbed. Like a
sleep-walker he bore the law of his actions within himself,
and the amiable, kindly expression of his countenance con-
cerned no one, but only mirrored the disposition of his soul.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 47

The other person they called the Dressmaker, and that
was his occupation. Of him it was impossible to get a con-
sistent impression. He was dressed according to the very
latest fashion, with his hair curled and perfumed, fragrant
with eau-de-cologne. One moment his carriage did not lack
self-possession, whereas in the next it assumed a certain
dancing, festive air, a certain hovering motion which, how-
ever, was kept in rather definite bounds by the robustness
of his figure. Even when he was most malicious in his
speech his voice ever had a touch of the smooth-tonguedness
of the shop, the suaveness of the dealer in fancy-goods,
which evidently was utterly disgusting to himself and only
satisfied his spirit of defiance. As I think of him now I
understand him better, to be sure, than when I first saw
him step out of his carriage and I involuntarily laughed.
At the same time there is some contradiction left still. He
had transformed or bewitched himself, had by the magic of
his own will assumed the appearance of one almost half-
witted, but had not thereby entirely satisfied himself; and
this is why his reflectiveness now and then peered forth
from beneath his disguise.

As I think of it now it seems rather absurd that five such
persons should get a banquet arranged. Nor would any-
thing have come of it, I suppose, if Constantin had not been
one of us. In a retired room of a confectioner's shop where
they met at times, the matter had been broached once be-
fore, but had been dropped immediately when the question
arose as to who was to head the undertaking. The Young
Person was declared unfit for that task, the Dressmaker
affirmed himself to be too busy. Victor Eremita did not
beg to be excused because "he had married a wife or bought
a yoke of oxen which he needed to prove";' but, he said,
even if he should make an exception, for once, and come to
the banquet, yet he would decline the courtesy offered him
to preside at it, and he therewith "entered protest at the
proper time."- This, John considered a work spoken in due

'Cf. Luke XIV, 19-20.
*Words used in the banns.

48 University of Texas Bulletin

season ; because, as he saw it, there was but one person able
to prepare a banquet, and that was the possessor of the
wishing-table which set itself with delectable things when
ever he said to it "Cover thyself !" He averred that to enjoy
the charms of a young girl in haste was not always the
wisest course ; but as to a banquet, he would not wait for it,
and generally was tired of it a long while before it came off.
However, if the plan was to be carried into effect he would
make one condition, which was, that the banquet should be
so arranged as to be served in one course. And that all
were agreed on. Also, that the settings for it were to be
made altogether new, and that afterwards they were to be
destroyed entirely; ay, before rising from table one was to
hear the preparation for their destruction. Nothing was to
remain ; "not even so much," said the Dressmaker, "as there
is left of a dress after it has been made over into a hat."
"Nothing," said John, "because nothing is more unpleasant
than a sentimental scene, and nothing more disgusting than
the knowledge that somewhere or other there is an external
setting which in a direct and impertinent fashion pretends
to be a reality."

When the conversation had thus becpme animated, Victor
Eremita suddenly arose, struck an attitude on the floor,
beckoned with his hand in the fashion of one commanding
and, holding his arm extended as one lifting a goblet, he
said, with the gesture of one waving a welcome : "With this
cup whose fragrance already intoxicates my senses, whose
cool fire already inflames my blood, I greet you, beloved
fellow-banqueters, and bid you welcome; being entirely as-
sured that each one of you is sufficiently satisfied by our
merely speaking about the banquet; for our Lord satisfied
the stomach before satisfying the eye, but the imagination
acts in the reverse fashion." Thereupon he inserted his
hand in his pocket, took from it a cigar-case, struck a match,
and began to smoke. When Constantin Constantius pro-
tested against this sovereign free way of transforming the
banquet planned into an illusory fragment of life, Victor
declared that he did not believe for one moment that such
a banquet could be got up and that, in any case, it had been

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 49

a mistake to let it become the subject of discussion in ad-
vance. "Whatever is to be good must come at once; for
*at once' is the divinest of all categories and deserves to
be honored as in the language of the Romans: ex templo,^
because it is the starting point for all that is divine in life,
and so much so that what is not done at once is of evil."
However, he remarked, he did not care to argue this point.
In case the others wished to speak and act differently he
would not say a word, but if they wished him to explain the
sense of his remarks more fully he must have leave to make
a speech, because he did not consider it all desirable to pro-
voke a discussion on the subject.

Permission was given him; and as the others called on
him to do so at once, he spoke as follows : "A banquet is in
itself a difficult matter, because even if it be arranged with
ever so much taste and talent there is something else essen-
tial to its success, to-wit, good luck. And by this I mean
not such matters as most likely would give concern to an
anxious hostess, but something different, a something which
no one can make absolutely sure of: a fortunate harmoniz-
ing of the spirit and the minutiae of the banquet, that fine
ethereal vibration of chords, that soul-stirring music which
cannot be ordered in advance from the town-musicians.
Look you, therefore is it a hazardous thing to undertake,
because if things do go wrong, perhaps from the very start,
one may suffer such a depression and loss of spirits that
recovery from it might involve a very long time.

"Sheer habit and thoughtlessness are father and god-
father to most banquets, and it is only due to the lack of
critical sense among people that one fails to notice the utter
absence of any idea in them. In the first place, women
ought never to be present at a banquet. Women may be
used to advantage only in the Greek style, as a chorus of
dancers. As it is the main thing at a banquet that there
be eating and drinking, woman ought not to be present;
for she cannot do justice to w^hat is offered; or, if she can,
it is most unbeautiful. Whenever a woman is present the

^Which in Latin means both "from the temple" and "at once."

50 University of Texas Bulletin

matter of eating and drinking ought to be reduced to the
very slightest proportions. At most, it ought to be no more
than some trifling feminine occupation, to have something
to busy one's hands with. Especially in the country a little
repast of this kind — which, by the way, should be put at
other times than the principal meals — may be extremely de-
lightful ; and if so, always owing to the presence of the other
sex. To do like the English, who let the fair sex retire as
soon as the real drinking is to start, is to fall between two
stools, for every plan ought to be a whole, and the very man-
ner with which I take a seat at the table and seize hold of
knife and fork bears a definite relation to this whole. In<
the same sense a political banquet presents an unbeautiful
ambiguity inasmuch as one does not* want to cut down to a
very minimum the essentials of a banquet, and yet does not
wish to have the speeches thought of as having been made
over the cups.

"So far, we are agreed, I suppose; and our number — in
case anything should come of the banquet — is correctly
chosen, according to that beautiful rule : neither more than
the Muses nor fewer than the Graces. Now I demand the
greatest superabundance of everything thinkable. That is,
even though everything be not actually there, yet the possi-
bility of having it must be at one's immediate beck and call,
aye, hover temptingly over the table, more seductive even
than the actual sight of it. I beg to be excused, however,
from banqueting on sulphur-matches or on a piece of sugar
which all are to suck in turn. My demands for such a ban-
quet will, on the contrary, be diflUcult to satisfy ; for the feast
itself must be calculated to arouse and incite that unmen-
tionable longing which each worthy participant is to bring
with him. I require that the earth's fertility be at our
service, as though everything sprouted forth at the very
moment the desire for it was born. I desire a more luxu-
rious abundance of wine than when Mephistopheles needed
but to drill holes into the table to obtain it. I demand an

<Thc omission of the negative particle in the original is no doubt
unintentional.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 51

illumination more splendid than have the gnomes when they
lift up the mountain on pillars and dance in a sea of blazing
light. I demand what most excites the senses, I demand
their gratification by deliciously sweet perfumes, more
superb than any in the Arabian Nights. I demand a cool-
ness which voluptuously provokes desire and breathes re-
laxation on desire satisfied. I demand a fountain's unceas-
ing enlivenment. If Maecenas could not sleep without hear-
ing the splashing of a fountain, I cannot eat without it.
Do not misunderstand me, I can eat stockfish without it,
but I cannot eat at a banquet without it ; I can drink water
without it, but I cannot drink wine at a banquet without it.
I demand a host of servants, chosen and comely, as if I sate
at table with the gods ; I demand that there shall be music
at the feast, both strong and subdued ; and I demand that it
shall be an accompaniment to my thoughts ; and what con-
cerns you, my friends, my demands regarding you are alto-
gether incredible. Do you see, by reason of all these de-
mands— which are as many reasons against it — I hold a
banquet to be a pium desideratum,^ and am so far from de-
siring a repetition of it that I presume it is not feasible
even a first time."

The only one who had not actually participated in this
conversation, nor in the frustration of the banquet, was
Constantin. Without him, nothing would have been done
save the talking. He had come to a different conclusion
and was of the opinion that the idea might well be realized,
if one but carried the matter with a high hand.

Then some time passed, and both the banquet and the
discussion about it were forgotten, when suddenly, one day,
the participants received a card of invitation from Constan-
tius for a banquet the very same evening. The motto of the
party had been given by him as: In Vino VeHtas, because
there was to be speaking, to be sure, and not only coilver-
sation ; but the speeches were not to be made except in vino,
and no truth was to be uttered there excepting that which is

'Pious wish.

52 University of Texas Bulletin

in vino — when the wine is a defense of the truth and the
truth a defense of the wine.

The place had been chosen in the woods, some ten miles
distant from Copenhagen. The hall in which they were to
feast had been newly decorated and in every way made un-
recognizable; a smaller room, separated from the hall by a
corridor, was arranged for an orchestra. Shutters and cur-
tains were let down before all windows, which were left
open. The arrangement that the participants were to drive
to the banquet in the evening hour was to intimate to them
— and that was Constantin's idea — what was to follow.
Even if one knows that one is driving to a banquet, and the
imagination therefore indulges for a moment in thoughts
of luxury, yet the impression of the natural surroundings
is too powerful to be resisted. That this might possibly not
be the case was the only contingency he apprehended; for
just as there is no power like the imagination to render
beautiful all it touches, neither is there any power which
can to such a degree disturb all — misfortune conspiring —
if confronted with reality. But driving on a summer even-
ing does not lure the imagination to luxurious thoughts, but
rather to the opposite. Even if one does not see it or hear
it, the imagination will unconsciously create a picture of
the longing for home which one is apt to feel in the evening
hours — one sees the reapers, man and maid, returning from
their work in the fields, one hears the hurried rattling of
the hay wagon, one interprets even the far-away lowing
from the meadows as a longing. Thus does a summer even-
ing suggest idyllic thoughts, soothing even a restless mind
with its assuagement, inducing even the soaring imagina-
tion to abide on earth with an indwelling yearning for home
as the place from whence it came, and thus teaching the
insatiable mind to be satisfied with little, by rendering one
content ; for in the evening hour time stands still and eter-
nity lingers.

Thus they arrived in the evening hour : those invited ; for
Constantin had come out somewhat earlier. Victor Eremita
who resided in the country not far away came on horse-
back, the others in a carriage. And just as they had dis-

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 53

charged it, a light open vehicle rolled in through the gate
carrying a merry company of four journeymen who were
entertained to be ready at the decisive moment to function
as a corps of destruction: just as firemen are stationed in a
theatre, for the opposite reason at once to extinguish a fire.

So long as one is a child one possesses sufficient imagina-
tion to maintain one's soul at the very top-notch of expec-
tation— for a whole hour in the dark room, if need be ; but
when one has grown older one's imagination may easily
cause one to tire of the Christmas tree before seeing it.

The folding doors were opened. The effect of the ra-
diant illumination, the coolness wafting toward them, the
beguiling fragrance of sweet perfumes, the excellent taste
of the arrangements, for a moment overwhelmed the feel-
ings of those entering ; and when, at the same time, strain?
from the ballet of "Don Juan" sounded from the orchestra,
their persons seemed transfigured and, as if out of rever-
ence for an unseen spirit about them, they stopped short for
a moment like men who have been roused by admiration and
who have risen to admire.

Whoever knows that happy moment, whoever has ap-
preciated its delight, and has not also felt the apprehension
lest suddenly something might happen, some trifle perhaps,
which yet might be sufficient to disturb all ! Whoever has
held the lamp of Aladdin in his hand and has not also felt
the swooning of pleasure, because one needs but to wish?
Whoever has held what is inviting in his hand and has not
also learned to keep his wrist limber to let go at once, if
need be ?

Thus they stood side by side. Only Victor stood alone,
absorbed in thought ; a shudder seemed to pass through his
soul, he almost trembled; he collected himself and saluted
the omen with these words: "Ye mysterious, festive, and
seductive strains which drew me out of the cloistered seclu-
sion of a quiet youth and beguiled me with a longing as
mighty as a recollection, and terrible, as though Elvira had

54 University of Texas Bulletin

not even been seduced but had only desired to be! Im-
mortal Mozart, thou to whom I owe all; but no! as yet I
do not owe thee all. But when I shall have become an old
man — if ever I do become an old man ; or when I shall have
become ten years older — if ever I do ; or when I am become
old — if ever I shall become old; or when I shall die — for
that, indeed, I know I shall: then shall I say: immortal
Mozart, thou to whom I owe all — and then I shall let my
admiration, which is my soul's first and only admiration,
burst forth in all its might and let it make away with me.
as it often has been on the point of doing. Then have I set
my house in order," then have I remembered my beloved
one, then have I confessed my love, then have I fully estab-
lished that I owe thee all, then am I occupied no longer with
thee, with the world, but only with the grave thought of
death."

Now there came from the orchestra that invitation in
which joy triumphs most exultantly, and heaven-storming
soars aloft above Elvira's sorrowful thanks ; and gracefully
apostrophizing, John repeated: "Viva la liberta"; — "et
Veritas," said the Young Person; "but above all, in vino,"
Constantin interrupted them, seating himself at the table
and inviting the others to do likewise.

• How easy to prepare a banquet ; yet Constanti«i declared
that he never would risk preparing another. How easy to
admire ; yet Victor declared that he never again would lend
words to his admiration ; for to suffer a discomfiture is more
dreadful than to become an invalid in war! How easy to
express a desire, if one has the magic lamp ; yet that is at
times more terrible than to perish of want !

They were seated. In the same moment the little com-
pany were launched into the very middle of the infinite sea
of enjoyment — as if with one single bound. Each one had
addressed all his thoughts and all his desires to the banquet,
had prepared his soul for the enjoyment which was offered
to overflowing and in which their souls overflowed. The
experienced driver is known by his ability to start the

'■•2 Kings 20, 1; Isaiah 38, 1.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 55

snorting team with a single bound and to hold them well
abreast ; the well-trained steed is known by his lifting him-
self in one absolutely decisive leap : even if one or the other
of the guests perhaps fell short in some particular, cer-
tainly Constantin was a good host.

Thus they banqueted. Soon, conversation had woven
its beautiful wreaths about the banqueters, so that they
sat garlanded. Now, it was enamored of the food, now
of the wine, and now again of itself ; now, it seemed to de-
velop into significance, and then again it was altogether
slight. Soon, fancy unfolded itself — ^the splendid one which
blows but once, the tender one which straightway closes its
petals ; now, there came an exclamation from one of the ban-
queters : "These truffles are superb," and now, an order of
the host: "This Chateau Margaux!" Now, the music
was drowned in the noise, now it was heard again. Some-
times the servants stood still as if in pausa, in that decisive
moment when a new dish was being brought out, or a new
wine was ordered and mentioned by name, sometimes they
were all a-bustle. Sometimes there was a silence for a mo-
ment, and then the re-animating spirit of the music went
forth over the guests. Now, one with some bold thought
would take the lead in the conversation and the others fol-
lowed after, almost forgetting to eat, and the music would
sound after them as it sounds after the jubilant shouts of a
host storming on ; now, only the clinking of glasses and the
clattering of plates was heard and the feasting proceeded
in silence, accompanied only by the music that joyously ad-
vanced and again stimulated conversation. Thus they ban-
queted.

How poor is language in comparison with that symphony
of sounds unmeaning, yet how significant, whether of a
battle or of a banquet, which even scenic representation
cannot imitate and for which language has but a few words !
How rich is language in the expression of the world of
ideas, and how poor, when it is to describe reality !

56 University of Texas Bulletin

Only once did Constantin abandon his omnipresence in
which one actually lost sight of his presence. At the very
beginning he got them to sing one of the old drinking songs,
"by way of calling to mind that jolly time when men and
women feasted together," as he said — a proposal which had
the positively burlesque effect he had perhaps calculated it
should have. It almost gained the upper hand when the
Dressmaker wanted them to sing the ditty : "When I shall
mount the bridal bed, hoiho!" After a couple of courses
had been served Constantin proposed that the banquet
should conclude with each one's making a speech, but that
precautions should be taken against the speakers' divagat-
ing too much. He was for making two conditions, viz., there
were to be no speeches until after the meal; and no one
was to speak before having drunk sufficiently to feel the
power of the wine — else he was to be in that condition m
which one says much which under other circumstances one
would leave unsaid — without necessarily having the connec-
tion of speech and thought constantly interrupted by hic-
coughs.^ Before speaking, then, each one was to declare
solemnly that he was in that condition. No definite quan-
tity of wine was to be required, capacities differed so widely.
Against this proposal, John entered protest. He could never
become intoxicated, he averred, and when he had come to a
certain point he grew the soberer the more he drank. Victor
Eremita was of the opinion that any such preparatory pre-
meditations to insure one's becoming drunk would precisely
militate against one's becoming so. If one desired to become
intoxicated the deliberate wish was only a hindrance. Then
there ensued some discussion about the divers influences of
wine on consciousness, and especially about the fact that,
in the case of a reflective temperament, an excess of wine
may manifest itself, not in any particular impetus but, on
the contrary, in a noticeably cool self-possession. As to the
contents of the speeches, Constantin proposed that they
should deal with love, that is, the relation between man and
woman. No love stories were to be told though they might
furnish the text of one's remarks.

'An allusion to the plight of Aristophanes in Plato's Symposion.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 57

The conditions were accepted. All reasonable and just
demands a host may make on his guests were fulfilled : they
ate and drank, and "drank and were filled with drink," as
the Bible has it ;* that is, they drank stoutly.

The desert was served. Even if Victor had not, as yet,
had his desire gratified to hear the splashing of a fountain
— which, for that matter, he had luckily forgotten since that
former conversation — now champagne flowed profusely.
The clock struck twelve. Thereupon Constantin commanded
silence, saluted the Young Person with a goblet and the
words quod felix sit faustumque'^ and bade him to speak
first.

(The Young Person's Speech)

The Young Person arose and declared that he felt the
power of the wine, which was indeed apparent to some de-
gree; for the blood pulsed strongly in his temples, and his
appearance was not as beautiful as before the meal. He
spoke as follows:

If there be truth in the words of the poets, dear fellow-
banqueters, then unrequited love is, indeed, the greatest of
sorrows. Should you require any proof of this you need but
listen to the speech of lovers. They say that it is death,
certain death; and the first time they believe it — for the
space of two weeks. The next time they say that it is death ;
and finally they will die sometime — as the result of unre-
quited love. For that love has killed them, about that there
can obtain no doubt. And as to love's having to take hold
three times to make away with them, that is not different
from the dentist's having to pull three times before he is
able to budge that firmly rooted molar. But, if unrequited
love thus means certain death, how happy am I who have
never loved and, I hope, will only achieve dying some time,

**Haggai 1, 6 (inexact).

oMay it be fortunate and favorable.

58 University of Texas Bulletin

and not from unrequited love! But just this may be the
greatest misfortune, for all I know, and how unfortunate
must I then be !

The essence of love probably (for I speak as does a blind
man about colors), probably lies in its bliss; which is, in
other words, that the cessation of love brings death to the
lover. This I comprehend very well as in the nature of a
hypothesis correlating life and death. But, if love is to be
merely by way of hypothesis, why, then lovers lay them-
selves open to ridicule through their actually falling in love.
If, however, love is something real, why, then reality must
bear out what lovers say about it. But did one in real life
ever hear of, or observe, such things having taken place,
even if there is hearsay to that effect? Here I perceive
already one of the contradictions in which love involves a
person; for whether this is different for those initiated,
that I have no means of knowing; but love certainly does
seem to involve people in the most curious contradictions.

There is no other relation between human beings which
makes such demands on one's ideality as does love, and yet
love is never seen to have it. For this reason alone I would
be afraid of love; for I fear that it might have the power
to make me too talk vaguely about a bliss which I did not
feel and a sorrow I did not have. I say this here since I
am bidden to speak on love, though unacquainted with it —
I say this in surroundings which appeal to me like a Greek
symposion ; for I should otherwise not care to speak on this
subject as I do not wish to disturb any one's happiness but,
rather, am content with my own thoughts. Who knows
but these thoughts are sheer imbecilities and vain imag-
inings— perhaps my ignorance is explicable from the fact
that I never have learned, nor have wished to learn, from
any one, how one comes to love; or from the fact that I
have never yet challenged a woman with a glance — which is
supposed to be smart — but have always lowered my eyes,
unwilling to yield to an impression before having fully
made sure about the nature of the power into whose sphere
I am venturing.

Selections from the Wi'itings of Kierkegaard 59

At this point he was interrupted by Constantin who ex-
postulated with him because, by his very confession of never
having been in love, he had debarred himself from speaking.
The Young Person declared that at any other time he would
gladly obey an injunction to that effect as he had often
enough experienced how tiresome it was to have to make a
speech ; but that in this case he would insist upon his right.
Precisely the fact that one had had no love affair, he said,
also constituted an affair of love; and he who could assert
this of himself was entitled to speak about Eros just be-
cause his thoughts were bound to take issue with the whole
sex and not with individuals. He was granted permission
to speak and continued.

Inasmuch as my right to speak has been challenged, this
may serve to exempt me from your laughter; for I know
well that, just as among rustics he is not considered a man
who does not call a tobacco pipe his own, likewise among
men-folks he is not considered a real man who is not ex-
perienced in love. If any one feels like laughing, let him
laugh — my thought is, and remains, the essential considera-
tion for me. Or is love, perchance, privileged to be the only
event which is to be considered after, rather than before,
it happens? If that be the case, what then if I, having fallen
in love, should later on think that it was too late to think
about it? Look you, this is the reason why I choose to
think about love before it happens. To be sure, lovers also
maintain that they gave the matter thought, but such is
not the case. They assume it to be essential in man to fall
in love; but this surely does not mean thinking about love
but, rather, assuming it, in order to make sure of getting
one's self a sweetheart.

In fact, whenever my reflection endeavors to pin down
love, naught but contradiction seems to remain. At times,
it is true, I feel as if something had escaped me, but I can-
not tell what it is, whereas my reflection is able at once to
point out the contradictions in what does occur. Very well,
then, in my opinion love is the greatest self-contradiction

60 University of Texas Bulletin

imaginable, and comical at the same time. Indeed, the one
corresponds to the other. The comical is always seen to
occur in the category of contradictions — which truth I can-
not take the time to demonstrate now ; but what 1 shall dem-
onstrate now is that love is comical. By love I mean the
relation between man and woman. I am not thinking of
Eros in the Greek sense which has been extolled so beauti-
fully by Plato who, by the way, is so far from considering
the love of woman that he mentions it only in passing, hold-
ing it to be inferior to the love of youths.^*' I say, love is
comical to a third person — more I say not. Whether it is
for this reason that lovers always hate a third person I do
not know ; but I do know that reflection is always in such
a relation the third person, and for this reason I cannot love
without at the same time having a third person present
in the shape of my reflection.

This surely cannot seem strange to any one, every one
having doubted everything, whereas I am uttering my
doubts only with reference to love. And yet I do think it
strange that people have doubted everything and have again
reached certainty, without as much as dropping a word con-
cerning the difficulties which have held my thought captive
— so much so that I have, now and then, longed to be freed
of them — freed by the aid of one, note well, who was aware
of these difficulties, and not of one who in his sleep had a
notion to doubt, and to have doubted, everything, and again
in his sleep had the notion that he is explaining, and has
explained, all.^^

Let me then have your attention, dear fellow banqueters,
and if you yourselves be lovers do not therefore interrupt
me, nor try to silence me because you do not wish to hear the
explanation. Rather turn away and listen with averted
faces to what 1 have to say, and what I insist upon saying,
having once begun.

^^Symposion, ch. 9.

''This ironic sally refers, not to Descartes' principle of skepsis, but
to the numerous Danish followers of Hegel and his "method"; cf.
Fear and Trembling, p. 119.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 61

In the first place I consider it comical that every one loves,
and every one wishes to love, without any one ever being
able to tell one what is the nature of the lovable or that
which is the real object of love. As to the word "to love"
I shall not discuss it since it means nothing definite ; but as
soon as the matter is broached at all we are met by the
question as to what it is one loves. No other answer is
ever vouchsafed us on that point other than that one loves
what is lovable. For if one should make answer, with
Plato,^- that one is to love what is good, one has in taking
this single step exceeded the bounds of the erotic.

The answer may be offered, perhaps, that one is to love
what is beautiful. But if I then should ask whether to love
means to love a beautiful landscape or a beautiful paint-
ing it would be immediately perceived that the erotic is not,
as it were, comprised in the more general term of the love
of things beautiful, but is something entirely of its own
kind. Were a lover — ^just to give an example — to speak as
follows, in order to express adequately how much love there
dwelled in him : "I love beautiful landscapes, and my Lalage,
and the beautiful dancer, and a beautiful horse — in short,
I love all that is beautiful," his Lalage would not be satisfied
with his encomium, however well satisfied she might be
with him in all other respects, and even if she be beautiful ;
and now suppose Lalage is not beautiful and he yet loved
her!

Again, if I should refer the erotic element to the bisection
of which Aristophanes tells us^^ when he says that the gods
severed man into two parts as one cuts flounders, and that
these parts thus separated sought one another, then I again
encounter a difficulty I cannot get over, which is, in how
far I may base my reasoning on Aristophanes who in his
speech — just because there is no reason for the thought to
stop at this point — goes further in his thought and thinks
that the gods might take it into their heads to divide man
into three parts, for the sake of still better fun. For the
sake of still better fun ; for is it not true, as I said, that love

^-Symposion, ch. 24.
'^Ibid., ch. 15-16.

62 University of Texas Bulletin

renders a person ridiculous, if not in the eyes of others then
certainly in the eyes of the gods ?

Now, let me assume that the erotic element resides es-
sentially in the relation between man and woman — ^what is
to be inferred from that? If the lover should say to his
Lalage: I love you because you are a woman; I might as
well love any other woman, as for instance, ugly Zoe : then
beautiful Lalage would feel insulted.

In what, then, consists the lovable? This is my ques-
tion; but unfortunately, no one has been able to tell me.
The individual lover always believes that, as far as he is
concerned, he knows. Still he cannot make himself under-
stood by any other lover; and he who listens to the speech
of a number of lovers will learn that no two of them ever
agree, even though they all talk about the same thing. Dis-
regarding those altogether silly explanations which leave
one as wise as before, that is, end by asserting that it is
really the pretty feet of the beloved damsel, or the admired
mustachios of the swain, which are the objects of love —
disregarding these, one will find mentioned, even in the dec-
lamations of lovers in the higher style, first a number of
details and, finally, the declaration: all her lovable ways;
and when they have reached the climax: that inexplicable
something I do not know how to explain. And this speech
is meant to please especially beautiful Lalage. Me it does
not please, for I don't understand a word of it and find,
rather, that it contains a double contradiction — first, that it
ends with the inexplicable, second, that it ends
with the inexplicable; for he who intends to end with the
inexplicable had best begin with the inexplicable and then
say no more, lest he lay himself open to suspicion. If he
begin with the inexplicable, saying no more, then this does
not prove his helplessness, for it is, anyway, an explanation
in a negative sense; but if he does begin with something
else and lands in the inexplicable, then this does certainly
prove his helplessness.

So then we see : to love corresponds to the lovable ; and
the lovable is the inexplicable. Well, that is at least some-
thing; but comprehensible it is not, as little as the inex-

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 63

plicable way in which love seizes on its prey. Who, indeed,
would not be alarmed if people about one, time and again,
dropped down dead, all of a sudden, or had convulsions,
without any one being able to account for it? But precisely
in this fashion does love invade life, only with the difference
that one is not alarmed thereby, since the lovers themselves
regard it as their greatest happiness, but that one, on the
contrary, is tempted to laugh ; for the comical and the trag-
ical elements ever correspond to one another. Today, one
may converse with a person and can fairly well make him
out — ^tomorrow, he speaks in tongues and with strange ges-
tures: he is in love.

Now, if to love meant to fall in love with the first person
that came along, it would be easy to understand that one
could give no special reasons for it ; but since to love means
to fall in love with one, one single person in all the world,
it would seem as if such an extraordinary process' of sin-
gling out ought to be due to such an extensive chain of rea-
soning that one might have to beg to be excused from hear-
ing it — not so much because it did not explain anything as
because it might be too lengthy to listen to. But no,- the
lovers are not able to explain anything at all. H e has seen
hundreds upon hundreds of women; he is, perhaps, ad-
vanced in years and has all along felt nothing — and all at
once he sees her, her the Only one, Catherine. Is this
not comical? Is it not comical that the relation which is
to explain and beautify all life, love, is not like the mustard
seed from which there grows a great tree,^* but being still
smaller is, at bottom, nothing at all ; for not a single ante-
cedent criterion can be mentioned, as e.g., that the phenom-
enon occurred at a certain age, nor a single reason as to why
he should select her, her alone in all the world — and that
by no means in the same sense as when "Adam chose Eve,
because there was none other."^^'

Or is not the explanation which the lovers vouchsafe just
as comical; or, does it not, rather, emphasize the comical
aspect of love? They say that love renders one blind, and

i*C/. Matthew 13, 31 etc.

15A quotation from Musasus, Volksmdrchen der Deutachen, III, 219.

64 University of Texas Bulletin

by this fact they undertake to explain the phenomenon.
Now, if a person who was going into a dark room to fetch
something should answer, on my advising him to take a light
along, that it was only a trifling matter he wanted and so he
would not bother to take a light along — ah! then I would
understand him excellently well. If, on the other hand,
this same person should take me aside and, with an air of
mystery, confide to me that the thing he was about to fetch
was of the very greatest importance and that it was for this
reason that he was able to do it in the dark — ah! then I
wonder if my weak mortal brain could follow the soaring
flight of his speech. Even if I should refrain from laugh-
ing, in order not to offend him, I should hardly be able to
restrain my mirth as soon as he had turned his back. But
at love nobody laughs ; for I am quite prepared to be embar-
rassed like the Jew who, after ending his story, asks: Is
there no one who will laugh ?^« And yet I did not miss the
point, as did the Jew, and as to my laughter I am far from
wanting to insult any one. Quite on the contrary, I scorn
those fools who imagine that their love has such good rea-
sons that they can afford to laugh at other lovers ; for since
love is altogether inexplicable, one lover is as ridiculous
as the other. Quite as foolish and haughty I consider it
also when a man proudly looks about him in the circle of
girls to find who may be worthy of him, or when a girl
proudly tosses her head to select or reject; because such
persons are simply basing their thoughts on an unexplained
assumption. No. What busies my thought is love as such,
and it is love which seems ridiculous to me; and therefore
I fear it, lest I become ridiculous in my own eyes, or ridicu-
lous in the eyes of the gods who have fashioned man thus.
In other words, if love is ridiculous it is equally ridiculous,
whether now my sweetheart be a princess or a servant girl ;
for the lovable, as we have seen, is the inexplicable.

Look you, therefore do I fear love, and find precisely in
this a new proof of love's being comical ; for my fear is so

'«The reference is to a situation in Richard Cumberland's (1732-
1811) play of "The Jew," known to Copenhagen playgoers in an
adaptation.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 65

curiously tragic that it throws light on the comical nature
of love. When people wreck a building a sign is hung up to
warn people, and I shall take care to stand from under;
when a bar has been freshly painted a stone is laid in the
road to apprise people of the fact ; when a driver is in danger
of running a man over he will shout "look out" ; when there
have been cases of cholera in a house a soldier is set as
guard ; and so forth. What I mean is that if there is some
danger, one may be warned and will successfully escape it
by heeding the warning. Now, fearing to be rendered ridic-
ulous by love, I certainly regard it as dangerous; so what
shall I do to escape it? In other words, what shall I do to
escape the danger of some woman falling in love with me?
I am far from entertaining the thought of being an Adonis
every girl is bound to fall in love with (relata refero,''
for what this means I do not understand) — goodness no!
But since I do not know what the lovable is I cannot, by any
manners of means, know how to escape this danger. Since,
for that matter, the very opposite of beauty may constitute
the lovable; and, finally, since the inexplicable also is the
lovable, I am forsooth in the same situation as the man Jean
Paul speaks of somewhere who, standing on one foot, reads
a sign saying, "fox-traps here," and now does not dare,
either to lift his foot or to set it down.

No, love any one I will not, before I have fathomed what
love is ; but this I cannot, but have, rather, come to the con-
clusion that it is comical. Hence I will not love — but alas!
I have not thereby avoided the danger, for, since I do not
know what the lovable is and how it seizes me, or how it
seizes a woman with reference to me, I cannot make sure
whether I have avoided the danger. This is tragical and,
in a certain sense, even profoundly tragical, even if no one
is concerned about it, or if no one is concerned about the bit-
ter contradiction for one who thinks — that a something ex-
ists which everywhere exercises its power and yet is not to
be definitely conceived by thought and which, perhaps, may
attack from the rear him who in vain seeks to conceive it.

^^I relate what I have been told.

r

66 University of Texas Bulletin

But as to the tragic side of the matter it has its deep reason
in the comic aspects just pointed out. Possibly, every other
person will turn all this upside down and not find that to
be comical which I do, but rather that which I conceive to
be tragical ; but this too proves that I am right to a certain
extent. And that for which, if so happens, I become either
a tragic or comic victim is plain enough, viz., my desire to
reflect about all I do, and not imagine I am reflecting about
life by dismissing its every important circumstance with an
"I don't care, either way."

Man has both a soul and a body. About this the wisest
and best of the race are agreed. Now, in case one assumes
the essence of love to lie in the relation between man and
woman, the comic aspect will show again in the face-about
which is seen when the highest spiritual values express
themselves in the most sensual terms. I am now referring
to all those extraordinary and mystic signals of love — in
short, to all the free-masonry which forms a continuation
of the above-mentioned inexplicable something. The con-
tradiction in which love here involves a person lies in the
fact that the symbolic signs mean nothing at all or — which
amounts to the same — ^that no one is able to explain what
they do signify. Two loving souls vow that they will love
each the other in all eternity ; thereupon they embrace, and
with a kiss they seal this eternal pact. Now I ask any
thinking person whether he would have hit upon that ! And
thus there is constant shifting from the one to the other
extreme in love. The most spiritual is expressed by its very
opposite, and the sensual is to signify the most spiritual. —
Let me assume I am in love. In that case I would conceive
it to be of the utmost importance to me that the one I love
belonged to me for all time. This I comprehend ; for I am
now, really, speaking only of Greek eroticism which has to
do with loving beautiful souls. Now when the person I love
had vowed to return my love I would believe her or, in as
far as there remained any doubt in me, try to combat my
doubt. But what happens actually? For if I were in love
I would, probably, behave like all the others, that is, seek
to obtain still some other assurance than merely to believe

Selectio-ns from the Writings of Kierkegaard 67

her I love ; which, though, is plainly the only assurance to
be had.

When Cockatoo" all at once begins to plume himself like
a duck which is gorged with food, and then emits the word
"Marian," everybody will laugh, and so will I. I suppose the
spectator finds it comical that Cockatoo, who doesn't love
Marian at all, should be on such intimate terms with her.
But suppose, now, that Cockatoo does love Marian. Would
that be comical still? To me it would; and the comical
would seem to me to lie in love's having become capable of
being expressed in such fashion. Whether now this has
been the custom since the beginning of the world makes
no difference whatsoever, for the comical has the prescrip-
tive right from all eternity to be present in contradictions —
and here is a contradiction. There is really nothing com-
ical in the antics of a manikin since we see some one pulling
the strings. But to be a manikin at the beck of something
inexplicable is indeed comical, for the contradiction lies
in our not seeing any sensible reason why one should have
to twitch now this leg and now that. Hence, if I cannot
explain what I am doing, I do not care to do it; and if I
cannot understand the power into whose sphere I am ven-
turing, I do not care to surrender myself to that power. And
if love is so mysterious a law which binds together the ex-
tremest contradictions, then who will guarantee that I
might not, one day, become altogether confused ? Still, that
does not concern me so much.

Again, I have heard that some lovers consider the be-
havior of other lovers ridiculous. I cannot conceive how
this ridicule is justified, for if this law of love be a natural
law, then all lovers are subject to it; but if it be the law
of their own choice, then those laughing lovers ought to be
able to explain all about love ; which, however, they are un-
able to do. But in this respect I understand this matter
better as it seems a convention for one lover to laugh at the
other because he always finds the other lover ridiculous,

i^A character in the Danish playwright Overskou's vaudeville of
'Capriciosa" (Comedies III, 184).

68 University of Texas Bulletin

but not himself. If it be ridiculous to kiss an ugly girl,
it is also ridiculous to kiss a pretty one ; and the notion that
doing this in some particular way should entitle one to cast
ridicule on another who does it differently, is but presump-
tuousness and a conspiracy which does not, for all that, ex-
empt such a snob from laying himself open to the ridicule
which invariably results from the fact that no one is able to
explain what this act of kissing signifies, whereas it is to
signify all — to signify, indeed, that the lovers desire to be-
long to each other in all eternity; aye, what is still more
amusing, to render them certain that they will. Now, if a
man should suddenly lay his head on one side, or shake it,
or kick out with his leg and, upon my asking him why he
did this, should answer "To be sure I don't know, myself,
I just happened to do so, next time I may do something dif-
ferent, for I did it unconsciously" — ah, then I would under-
stand him quite well. But if he said, as the lovers say about
their antics, that all bliss lay therein, how could I help
finding it ridiculous — just as I thought that other man's
motions ridiculous, to be sure in a different sense, until he
restrained my laughter by declaring that they did not sig-
nify anything. For by doing so he removed the contradic-
tion which is the basic cause of the comical. It is not at all
comical that the insignificant is declared to signify nothing,
but it is very much so if it be asserted to signify all.

As regards involuntary actions, the contradiction arises
at the very outset because involuntary actions are not looked
for in a free rational being. Thus if one supposed that the
Pope had a coughing spell the very moment he was to place
the crown on Napoleon's head; or that bride and groom
in the most solemn moment of the wedding ceremony should
fall to sneezing — these would be examples of the comical.
That is, the more a given action accentuates the free ra-
tional being, the more comical are involuntary actions. Thie
holds true also in respect of the erotic gesticulations, where
the comical element appears a second time, owing to the
circumstance that the lovers attempt to explain away the
contradiction by attributing to their gesticulations an abso-
lute value. As is well known, children have a keen sense

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 69

of the ridiculous — witness children's testimony which can
always be relied on in this regard. Now as a rule children
will laugh at lovers, and if one makes them tell what they
have seen, surely no one can help laughing. This is, per-
haps, due to the fact that children omit the point. Very
strange! When the Jew omitted the point no one cared to
laugh. Here, on the contrarj'', every one laughs because
the point is omitted ; since, however, no one can explain what
the point is — why, then there is no point at all.

So the lovers explain nothing; and those who praise love
explain nothing but are merely intent on — as one is bidden
in the Royal Laws of Denmark — on saying anent it all
which may be pleasant and of good report. But a man
who thinks, desires to have his logical categories in good
order ; and he who thinks about love wishes to be sure about
his categories also in this matter. The fact is, though, that
people do not think about love, and a "pastoral science" is
still lacking ; for even if a poet in a pastoral poem makes an
attempt to show how love is born, everji;hing is smuggled
in again by help of another person who teaches the lovers
how to love !

As we saw, the comical element in love arose from
the face-about whereby the highest quality of one
sphere does not find expression in that sphere but in the
exactly opposite quality of another sphere. It is comical
that the soaring flight of love — the desire to belong to each
other for all time — lands ever, like Saft,^° in the pantry;
but still more comical is it that this conclusion is said to
constitute love's highest expression.

Wherever there is a contradiction, there the comical ele-
ment is present also. I am ever following that track. If
it be disconcerting to you, dear fellow banqueters, to follow
me in what I shall have to say now, then follow me with
averted countenances. I myself am speaking as if with
veiled eyes ; for as I see only the mystery in these matters,
why, I cannot see, or I see nothing.

What is a consequence? If it cannot, in some way or

= *The glutton in Oehlenschloeger's vaudeville of "Sovedrikken.

70 University of Texas Bulletin

other, be brought under the same head as its antecedent —
why, then it would be ridiculous if it posed as a consequence.
To illustrate: if a man who wanted to take a bath jumped
into the tank and, coming to the surface again somewhat
confused, groped for the rope to hold on to, but caught the
douche-line by mistake, and a shower now descended on
him with sufficient motivation and for excellent good rea-
son— why, then the consequence would be entirely in order.
The ridiculous here consisted in his seizing the wrong rope ;
but there is nothing ridiculous in the shower descending
when one pulls the proper rope. Rather, it would be ridic-
ulous if it did not come; as for example, just to show the
correctness of my contention about contradictions, if a man
nerved himself with bold resolution in order to withstand
the shock and, in the enthusiasm of his decision, with a
stout heart pulled the line — and the shower did not come.

Let us see now how it is with regard to love. The lovers
wish to belong to each other for all time, and this they
express, curiously, by embracing each other with all the
intensity of the moment; and all the bliss of love is said
to reside therein. But all desire is egotistic. Now, to
be sure, the lover's desire is not egotistic in respect of
the one he loves, but the desire of both in conjunction is
absolutely egotistic in so far as they in their union and love
represent a new ego. And yet they are deceived ; for in
the same moment the race triumphs over the individual, the
race is victorious, and the individuals are debased to do its
bidding.

Now this I find more ridiculous than what Aristophanes
thought so ridiculous. The ridiculous aspect of his theory
of bi-section lies in the inherent contradiction (which the
ancient author does not sufficiently emphasize, however).
In considering a person one naturally supposes him to be
an entity, and so one does believe till it becomes apparent
that, under the obsession of love, he is but a half which runs
about looking for its complement. There is nothing ridic-
ulous in half an apple. The comical would appear if a
whole apple turned out to be only half an apple. In the
first case there exists no contradiction, but certainly in the

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 71

latter. If one actually based one's reasoning on the figure
of speech that woman is but half a person she would not be
ridiculous at all in her love. Man, however, who has been
enjoying civic rights as a whole person, will certainly
appear ridiculous when he takes to running about (and
looking for his other half) ;-^ for he betrays thereby that
he is but half a person. In fact, the more one thinks about
the matter the more ridiculous it seems ; because if man
really be a whole, why, then he will not become a whole in
love, but he and woman would make up one and a half. No
wonder, then, that the gods laugh, and particularly at man.

But let me return to my consequence. When the lovers
have found each other, one should certainly believe that they
formed a whole, and in this should lie the proof of their as-
sertion that they wished to live for each other for all time.
But lo! instead of living for each other they begin to live
for the race, and this they do not even suspect.

What is a consequence? If, as I observed, one cannot
detect in it the cause out of which it proceeded, the conse-
quence is merely ridiculous, and he becomes a laughing stock
to whom this happens. Now, the fact that the separated
halves have found each other ought to be a complete sat-
isfaction and rest for them; and yet the consequence is a
new existence. That having found each other should mean
a new existence for the lovers, is comprehensible enough;
but not, that a new existence for a third being should take
its inception from this fact. And yet the resulting conse-
quence is greater than that of which it is the consequence,
whereas such an end as the lovers' finding each other ought
to be infallible evidence of no other, subsequent, consequence
being thinkable.

Does the satisfaction of any other desire show an an-
alogy to this consequence? Quite on the contrary, the sat-
isfaction of desire is in everj'^ other case evinced by a period
of rest; and even if a tristitia-^ does supervene — indicating,
by the way, that every satisfaction of an appetite is com-
ical— this tristitia is a straightfor^vard consequence, though

20Supplied by the translator to complete the sense.
^^Dejection. Cf. the maxim: omne animal post coitum triste.

72 University of Texas Bulletin

no tristitia so eloquently attests a preceding comical element
as does that following love. It is quite another matter with
an enormous consequence such as w^e are dealing with,
a consequence of which no one knows whence it comes, nor
whether it will come ; whereas, if it does come, it comes as a
consequence.

Who is able to grasp this? And yet that which for the
initiates of love constitutes the greatest pleasure is also the
most important thing for them — so important that they
even adopt new names, derived from the consequence there-
of which thus, curiously enough, assumes retroactive force.
The lover is now called father, his sweetheart, mother ; and
these names seem to them the most beautiful. And yet
there is a being to whom these names are even more beau-
tiful; for what is as beautiful as filial piety? To me it
seems the most beautiful of all sentiments ; and fortunately
I can appreciate the thought underlying it. We are taught
that it is seeming in a son to love his father. This I com-
prehend, I cannot even suspect that there is any contradic-
tion possible here, and I acknowledge infinite satisfaction
in being held by the loving bonds of filial piety. I believe
it is the greatest debt of all to owe another being one's life.
I believe that this debt cannot ever be wiped out, or even
fathomed by any calculation, and for this reason I agree
with Cicero when he asserts that the son is always in the
wrong as against his father; and it is precisely filial piety
which teaches me to believe this, teaches me not even to
penetrate the hidden, but rather to remain hidden in the
father. Quite true, I am glad to be another person's great-
est debtor; but as to the opposite, viz., before deciding to
make another person my greatest debtor, I want to arrive
at greater clarity. For to my conception there is a world
of difference between being some person's debtor, and
making some person one's debtor to such an extent that
he will never be able to clear himself.

What filial piety forbids the son to consider, love bids the
father to consider. And here contradiction sets in again.
If the son has an immortal soul like his father, what does
it mean, then, to be a father ? For must I not smile at my-

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 73

self when thinking of myself as a father — whereas the son
is most deeply moved when he reflects on the relation he
bears to his father? Very well do I understand Plato when
he says that an animal will give birth to an animal of the
same species, a plant, to a plant of the same species, and
thus also man to man.-- But this explains nothing, does
not satisfy one's thought, and arouses but a dim feeling;
for an immortal soul cannot be bom. Whenever, then, a
father considers his son in the light of his son's immortal-
ity — which is, indeed, the essential consideration-- — he
will probably smile at himself, for he cannot, by any means,
grasp in their entirety all the beautiful and noble thoughts
which his son with filial piety entertains about him. If,
on the other hand, he considers his son from the point of
view of his animal nature he must smile again, because the
conception of fatherhood is too exalted an expression for it.

Finally, if it were thinkable that a father influenced his
son in such fashion that his own nature was a condition
from which the son's nature could not free itself, then the
contradiction would arise in another direction; for in this
case nothing more terrible is thinkable than being a father.
There is no comparison between killing a person and giv-
ing him life — the former decides his fate only in time, the
other for all eternity. So there is a contradiction again, and
one both to laugh and to weep about. Is paternity then an
illusion — even if not in the same sense as is implied in Mag-
delone's speech to Jeronymus-* — or is it the most terrible
thought imaginable? Is it the greatest benefit conferred
on one, or is it the sweetest gratification of one's desire —
is it something which just happens, or is it the greatest
task of life?

Look you, for this reason have I forsworn all love, for
my thought is to me the most essential consideration. So
even if love be the most exquisite joy, I renounce it, without
wishing either to offend or to envy any one; and even if
love be the condition for conferring the greatest benefit

■-2This statement is to be found, rather, in Aristotle's Ethics II, 6.

-^There is a pun here in the original.

-*In Holberg's comedy of "Erasmus Montanus," III, 6.

74 University of Texas Bulletin

imaginable I deny myself the opportunity therefor — but my
thought I have not prostituted. By no means do I lack an
eye for what is beautiful, by no means does my heart re-
main unmoved when I read the songs of the poets, by no
means is my soul without sadness when it yields to the
beautiful conception of love; but I do not wish to become
unfaithful to my thought. And of what avail were it to be,
for there is no happiness possible for me except my thought
have free sway. If it had not, I would in desperation yearn
for my thought, which I may not desert to cleave to a wife,
for it is my immortal part and, hence, of more importance
than a wife. Well do I comprehend that if any thing is
sacred it is love ; that if faithlessness in any relation is base,
it is doubly so in love ; that if any deceit is detestable, it is
tenfold more detestable in love. But my soul is innocent
of blame. I have never looked at any woman to desire
her, neither have I fluttered about aimlessly before blindly
plunging, or lapsing, into the most decisive of all relations.
If I knew what the lovable were I would know with cer-
tainty whether I had offended by tempting any one; but
since I do not know, I am certain only of never having had
the conscious desire to do so.

Supposing I should yield to love- and be made to laugh ;
or supposing I should be cast down by terror, since I can-
not find the narrow path which lovers travel as easily as if
it were the broad highway, undisturbed by any doubts,
which they surely have bestowed thought on (seeing our
times have, indeed, reflected about all" and consequently
will comprehend me when I assert that to act unreflectingly
is nonsense, as one ought to have gone through all
possible reflections before acting) — supposing, I say, I
should yield to love! Would I not insult past redress riiy
beloved one if I laughed; or irrevocably plunge her into
despair if I were overwhelmed by terror? For I under-
stand well enough that a woman cannot be expected to
have thought as profoundly about these matters; and a

25Cf. note p. 60.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 75

woman who found love comical (as but gods and men can,
for which reason woman is a temptation luring them to
become ridiculous) would both betray a suspicious amount
of previous experience and understand me least. But a
woman who comprehended the terror of love would have
lost her loveliness and still fail to understand me — she would
be annihilated; which is in nowise my case, so long as my
thought saves me.

Is there no one ready to laugh? When I began by want-
ing to speak about the comical element in love you perhaps
expected to be made to laugh, for it is easy to make you
laugh, and I myself am a friend of laughter; and still you
did not laugh, I believe. The effect of my speech was a
different one, and yet precisely this proves that I have
spoken about the comical. If there be no one who laughs at
my speech — well, then laugh a little at me, dear fellow-
banqueters, and I shall not w^onder ; for I do not understand
what I have occasionally heard you say about love. Very
probably, though, you are among the initiated as I am not.

Thereupon the Young Person seated himself. He had
become more beautiful, almost, than before the meal. Now
he sat quietly, looking down before him, unconcerned about
the others. John the Seducer desired at once to urge some
objections against the Young Person's speech but was in-
terrupted by Constantin who warned against discussions
and ruled that on this occasion only speeches were in order.
John said if that was the case, he would stipulate that he
should be allowed to be the last speaker. This again gave
rise to a discussion as to the order in which they were to
speak, which Constantin closed by offering to speak forth-
with, against their recognizing his authority to appoint the
speakers in their turn.

(Constantin's Speech)

Constantin spoke as follows:

There is a time to keep silence, and a time to speak,^^

2fiEccles. 3, 7.

76 University of Texas Bulletin

and now it seems to be the time to speak briefly, for our
young friend has spoken much and very strangely. His
vis comica^'^ has made us struggle ancipiti proelio^^ because
his speech was full of doubts, as he himself is, sitting there
now — a perplexed man who knows not whether to laugh,
or weep, or fall in love. In fact, had I had foreknowledge
of his speech, such as he demands one should have of love, I
should have forbidden him to speak; but now it is too late.
I shall bid you then, dear bellow-banqueters, "gladsome and
merry to be," and even if I cannot enforce this I shall ask
you to forget each speech so soon as it is made and to wash
it down with a single draught.

And now as to woman, about whom I shall speak. I too
have pondered about her, and I have finally discovered the
category to which she belongs. I too have sought, but I
have found, too, and I have made a matchless discovery
which I shall now communicate to you. Woman is under-
stood correctly only when placed in the category of "the
joke."

It is man's function to be absolute, to act in an absolute
fashion, or to give expression to the absolute. Woman's
sphere lies in her relativity.^® Between beings so radically
different, no true reciprocal relation can exist. Precisely
in this incommensurability lies the joke. And with woman
the joke was born into the world. It is to be understood,
however, that man must know how to stick to his role of
being absolute; for else nothing is seen — that is to say,
something exceedingly common is seen, viz., that man and
woman fit each other, he as a half man and she as a half
man.

The joke is not an aesthetic, but an abortive ethical, cate-
gory. Its effect on thought is about the same as the im-
pression we receive if a man were solemnly to begin making
a speech, recite a comma or two with his pronouncement,

^''Comical power.

28In uncertain battle.

29According to the development of these terms in Kierkegaard's
previous works, the "absolute" belongs to the ethic, the "relative"
to the aesthetic sphere.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 77

then say "hm!" — "dash" — and then stop. Thus with
woman. One tries to cover her with the ethical category,
one thinks of human nature, one opens one's eyes, one
fastens one's glances on the most excellent maiden in ques-
tion, an effort is made to redeem the claims of the ethical
demand; and then one grows ill at ease and says to one's
self: ah, this is undoubtedly a joke! The joke lies, indeed,
in applying that category to her and measuring her by it,
because it would be idle to expect serious results from her;
but just that is the joke. Because if one could demand it
of her it would not be a joke at all. A mighty poor joke
indeed it would be, to place her under the air-pump and
draw the air out of her — indeed it were a shame; but to
blow her up to supernatural size and let her imagine her-
self to have attained all the ideality which a little maiden
of sixteen imagines she has, that is the beginning of the
game and, indeed, the beginning of a highly entertaining
performance. No youth has half so much imaginary ideal-
ity as a young girl, but: "We shall soon be even" as says
the tailor in the proverb ; for her ideality is but an illusion.
If one fails to consider woman from this point of view she
may cause irreparable harm; but through my conception
of her she becomes harmless and amusing. For a man there
is nothing more shocking than to catch himself twaddling.
It destroys all true ideality; for one may repent of having
been a rascal, and one may feel sorry for not having meant
a word of what one said ; but to have talked nonsense, sheer
nonsense, to have meant all one said and behold ! it was all
nonsense — that is too disgusting for repentance incarnate
to put up with. But this is not the case with woman. She
has a prescriptive right to transfigure herself — in less than
24 hours — in the most innocent and pardonable nonsense;
for far is it from her ingenuous soul to wish to deceive one !
Indeed, she meant all she said, and now she says the precise
opposite, but with the same amiable frankness, for now she
is willing to stake everything on what she said last. Now
in case a man in all seriousness surrenders to love he may
be called fortunate indeed if he succeeds in obtaining an
insurance — if, indeed, he is able to obtain it anywhere;

78 University of Texas Bulletin

for so inflammable a material as woman is most likely to
arouse the suspicions of an insurance agent. Just consider
for a moment what he has done in thus identifying himself
with her! If, some fine New Year's night she goes off
like some fireworks he will promptly follow suit; and even
if this should not happen he will have many a close call.
And what may he not lose ! He may lose his all ; for there
is but one absolute antithesis to the absolute, and that is
nonsense. Therefore, let him not seek refuge in some so-
ciety for morally tainted individuals, for he is not morally
tainted — far from it ; only, he has been reduced in absurdum
and beatified in nonsense ; that is, has been made a fool of.
This will never happen among men. If a man should
sputter off in this fashion I would scorn him. If he should
fool me by his cleverness I need but apply the ethical cate-
gory to him, and the danger is trifling. If things go too
far I shall put a bullet through his brain ; but to challenge
a woman — what is that, if you please? Who does not see
that it is a joke, just as when Xerxes had the sea whipped?
When Othello murders Desdemona, granting she really had
been guilty, he has gained nothing, for he has been duped,
and a dupe he remains; for even by his murdering her he
only makes a concession with regard to a consequence which
originally made him ridiculous; whereas Elvira''*' may be
an altogether pathetic figure when arming herself with a
dagger to obtain revenge. The fact that Shakespeare has
conceived Othello as a tragic figure (even disregarding the
calamity that Desdemona is innocent) is to be explained
and, indeed, to perfect satisfaction, by the hero being a
colored person. For a colored person, dear fellow-banquet-
ers, who cannot be assumed to represent spiritual qualities
— a colored person, I say, who therefore becomes green in
his face when his ire is aroused (which is a physiological
fact), a colored man may, indeed, become tragic if he is
deceived by a woman; just as a woman has all the pathos
of tragedy on her side when she is betrayed by a man. A
man who flies into a rage may perhaps become tragic ; but

3<'Heroine of Mozart's "Don Juan."

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 79

a man of whom one may expect a developed mentality, he
will either not become jealous, or he will become ridiculous
if he does ; and most of all when he comes running with a
dagger in his hand.

A pity that Shakespeare has not presented us with a
comedy of this description in which the claim raised by a
woman's infidelity is turned down by irony; for not eveiy
one who is able to see the comical element in this situation
is able also to develop the thought and give it dramatic em-
bodiment. Let one but imagine Socrates surprising Xan-
thippe in the act — for it would be un-Socratic even to think
of Socrates being particularly concerned about his wife's
fidelity, or still worse, spying on her — imagine it, and I
believe that the fine smile which transformed the ugliest
man in Athens into the handsomest, would for the first
time have turned into a roar of laughter. It is incompre-
hensible why Aristophanes, who so frequently made Socra-
tes the butt of his ridicule, neglected to have him run on the
stage shouting: "WTiere is she, where is she, so that I may
kill her, i.e., my unfaithful Xanthippe." For really it does
not matter greatly whether or no Socrates was made a
cuckold, and all that Xanthippe may do in this regard is
wasted labor, like snapping one's fingers in one's pocket;
for Socrates remains the same intellectual hero, even with a
horn on his forehead. But if he had in fact become jealous
and had wanted to kill Xanthippe — alas! then would Xan-
thippe have exerted a power over him such as the entire
Greek nation and his sentence of death could not — to make
him ridiculous.

A cuckold is comical, then, with respect to his wife; but
he may be regarded as becoming tragical with respect to
other men. In this fact we may find an explanation of the
Spanish conception of honor. But the tragic element re-
sides chiefly in his not being able to obtain redress, and the
anguish of his suffering consists really in its being devoid
of meaning — which is terrible enough. To shoot the woman,
to challenge her, to despise her, all this would only serve
to render the poor man still more ridiculous; for woman
is the weaker sex. This consideration enters in everv-

80 University of Texas Bulletin

where and confuses all. If she performs a great deed she
is admired more than man, because it is more than was ex-
pected of her. If she is betrayed, all the pathos is on her
side ; but if a man is deceived one has scant sympathy and
little patience while he is present — and laughs at him when
his back is turned.

Look you, therefore is it advisable betimes to consider
woman as a joke. The entertainment she affords is simply
incomparable. Let one consider her a fixed quantity, and
one's self a relative one; let one by no means contradict
her, for that would simply be helping her; let one never
doubt what she says but, rather, believe her every word;
let one gallivant about her, with eyes rendered unsteady
by unspeakable admiration and blissful intoxication, and
with the mincing steps of a worshipper; let one languish-
ingly fall on one's knees, then lift up one's eyes up to her
languishingly and heave a breath again; let one do all she
bids one, like an obedient slave. And now comes the cream
of the joke. We need no proof that woman can speak, i.e.,
use words. Unfortunately, however, she does not possess
sufficient reflection for making sure against her in the long
run — which is, at most, eight days — contradicting herself;
unless indeed man, by contradicting her, exerts a regulative
influence. So the consequence is that within a short time
confusion will reign supreme. If one had not done what
she told one to, the confusion would pass unnoticed ; for she
forgets again as quickly as she talks. But since her ad-
mirer has done all, and has been at her beck and call in every
instance, the confusion is only too glaring.

The more gifted the woman, the more amusing the situa-
tion. For the more gifted she is, the more imagination
she will possess. Now, the more imagination she possesses,
the greater airs she will give herself and the greater the
confusion which is bound to become evident in the next in-
stant. In life, such entertainment is rarely had, because
this blind obedience to a woman's whims occurs but seldom.
And if it does, in some languishing swain, most likely he is
not qualified to see the fun. The fact is, the ideality a little
maiden assumes in moments when her imagination is at

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 81

work is encountered nowhere else, whether in gods or man ;
but it is all the more entertaining to believe her and to add
fuel to the fire.

As I remarked, the fun is simply incomparable — indeed,
I know it for a fact, because I have at times not been able
to sleep at night with the mere thought of what new confu-
sions I should live to see, through the agency of my sweet-
heart and my humble zeal to please her. Indeed, no one
who gambles in a lottery- will meet with more remarkable
combinations than he who has a passion for this game.
For this is sure, that every woman without exception pos-
sesses the same qualifications for being resolved and trans-
figured in nonsense with a gracefulness, a nonchalance, an
assurance such as befits the weaker sex.

Being a right-minded lover one naturally discovers every
possible charm in one's beloved. Now, when discovering
genius in the above sense, one ought not to let it remain a
mere possibility- but ought, rather, to develop it into vir-
tuosity. I do not need to be more specific, and more cannot
be said in a general way, yet every one will understand me.
Just as one may find entertainment in balancing a cane on
one's nose, in swinging a tumbler in a circle w^ithout spill-
ing a drop, in dancing between eggs, and in other games as
amusing and profitable, likewise, and not otherwise, in liv-
ing with his beloved the lover will have a source of incom-
parable entertainment and food for most interesting study.
In matters pertaining to love let one have absolute belief,
not only in her protestations of fidelity — one soon tires of
that game — but in all those explosions of inviolable Roman-
ticism by which she would probably perish if one did not
contrive a safety-valve through which the sighs and the
smoke, and "the aria of Romanticism^^" may escape and
make her worshipper happy. Let one compare her admir-
ingly to Juliet, the difference being only that no person ever
as much as thought of touching a hair on her Romeo's head.
With regard to intellectual matters, let one hold her capable
of all and, if one has been lucky enough to find the right

siQuotation from Wessel's famous comedy of "Love without Stock-
ings," III, 3.

82 University of Texas Bulletin

woman, in a trice one will have a cantankerous authoress,
whilst wonderingly shading one's eyes with one's hand and
duly admiring what the little black hen may yield besides.^^
It is altogether incomprehensible why Socrates did not
choose this course of action instead of bickering with Xan-
thippe— oh, well! to be sure he wished to acquire practice,
like the riding master who, even though he has the best
trained horse, yet knows how to tease him in such fashion
that there is good reason for breaking him in again. ^^

Let me be a little more concrete, in order to illustrate a
particular and highly interesting phenomenon. A great
deal has been said about feminine fidelity, but rarely with
any discretion.^* From a purely aesthetic point of view this
fidelity is to be regarded as a piece of poetic fiction which
steps on the stage to find her lover — a fiction which sits by
the spinning wheel and waits for her lover to come; but
when she has found him, or he has come, why, then aesthet-
ics is at a loss. Her infidelity, on the other hand, as con-
trasted with her previous fidelity, is to be judged chiefly
with regard to its ethical import, when jealousy will appear
as a tragic passion. There are three possibilities, so the
case is favorable for woman; for there are two cases of
fidelity, as against one of infidelity. Inconceivably great is
her fidelity when she is not altogether sure of her cavalier ;
and ever so inconceivably great is it when he repels her
fidelity. The third case would be her infidelity. Now
granted one has sufl^icient intellect and objectivity to make
reflections, one will find sufficient justification, in what has
been said, for my category of "the joke." Our young
friend whose beginning in a manner deceived me seemed to
be on the point of entering into this matter, but backed out
again, dismayed at the difficulty. And yet the explanation
is not difficult, providing one really sets about it seriously,

^'^Viz. besides the eggs she duly furnishes; Holberg, "The Busy-
body," II, 1.

^''This figure is said by Diogenes Laertios II, 37 to have been used
by Socrates himself about his relation to Xanthippe.

•<*The following sentences are not as clear in meaning as is other-
wise the case in Kierkegaard.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 83

to make unrequited lov^e and death correspond to one an-
other, and providing one is serious enough to stick to his
thought — and so much seriousness one ought to have — for
the sake of the joke.

Of course this phrase of unrequited love being death orig-
inated either with a woman or a womanish male. Its origin
is easily made out, seeing that it is one of those categorical
outbursts which, spoken with great bravado, on the spur of
the moment, may count on a great and immediate applause ;
for although this business is said to be a matter of life and
death, yet the phrase is meant for immediate consumption —
like cream-puffs. Although referring to daily experience it
is by no means binding on him who is to die, but only obliges
the listener to rush post-haste to the assistance of the dying
lover. If a man should take to using such phrases it would
not be amusing at all. for he would be too despicable to
laugh at. Woman, however, possesses genius, is lovable in
the measure she possesses it, and is amusing at all times.
Well, then, the languishing lady dies of love — why certainly,
for did she not say so herself? In this matter she is pa-
thetic, for woman has enough courage to say what no man
would have the courage to do — so then she dies ! In saying
so I have measured her by ethical standards. Do ye like-
wise, dear fellow-banqueters, and understand your Aristotle
aright, now ! He obser\^es very correctly that woman can-
not be used in tragedy.^' And very certainly, her proper
sphere is the pathetic and serious divertissement, the half-
hour face, not the five-act drama. So then she dies. But
should she for that reason not be able to love again? Why
not? — that is, if it be possible to restore her to life. Now,
having been restored to life, she is of course a new being —
another person, that is, and begins afresh and falls in love
for the first time : nothing remarkable in that I Ah, death,
great is thy power ; not the most violent emetic and not the
most powerful laxative could ever have the same purging
effect !

The resulting confusion is capital, if one but is attentive
and does not forget. A dead man is one of the most amus-

'Poeties, chap. 15.

m '*

University of Texas Bulletin

ing characters to be met with in life. Strange that more
use is not made of him on the stage, for in life he is seen,
now and then. When you come to think of it, even one who
has only been seemingly dead is a comical figure; but one
who was really dead certainly contributes to our entertain-
ment all one can reasonably expect of a man. All depends
on whether one is attentive. I myself had my attention
called to it, one day, as I was walking with one of my ac-
quaintances. A couple passed us. I judged from the ex-
pression on his face that he knew them and asked whether
that was the case. "Why, yes," he answered, "I know them
very well, and especially the lady, for she is my departed
one." — "What departed one ?" I asked. — "Why, my departed
first love," he answered. "Indeed, this is a strange affair.
She said : I shall die. And that very same moment she de-
parted, naturally enough, by death — else one might have
insured her beforehand in the widow's insurance. Too late !
Dead she was and dead she remained; and now I wander
about, as says the poet, vainly seeking the grave of my lady-
love that I may shed my tears thereon." Thus this broken-
hearted man who remained alone in the world, though it
consoled him to find her pretty far along with some other
man.

It is a good thing for the girls, thought I, that they don't
have to be buried, every time they die; for if parents have
hitherto considered a boy-child to be the more expensive,
the girls might become even more so !

A simple case of infidelity is not as amusing, by far. I
mean, if a girl should fall in love with some one else and
should say to her lover: "I cannot help it, save me from
myself!" But to die from sorrow because she cannot en-
dure being separated from her lover by his journey to the
West Indies, to have put up with his departure, however, —
and then, at his return, be not only not dead, but attached
to some one else for all time — that certainly is a strange
fate for a lover to undergo. No wonder, then, that the
heart-broken man at times consoled himself with the burthen
of an old song which runs : "Hurrah for you and me, I say,
we never shall forget that day !"

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 85

Now forgive me, dear fellow-banqueters, if I have spoken
at too great length ; and empty a glass to love and to woman.
Beautiful she is and lovely, if she be considered sesthetically.
That is undeniable. But, as has often been said, and as I
shall say also : one ought not to remain standing here, but
should go on.''' Consider her, then, ethically and you will
hardly have begun to do so before the humor of it will be-
come apparent. Even Plato and Aristotle assume that
woman is an imperfect form, an irrational quantity, that is,
one which might some time, in a better world, be trans-
formed into a man. In this life one must take her as she is.
And what this is becomes apparent very soon ; for she will
not be content with the aesthetic sphere, but goes on, she
wants to become emancipated, and she has the courage to
say so. Let her wish be fulfilled and the amusement will be
simply incomparable.

When Constantin had finished speaking he forthwith ruled
Victor Eremita to begin. He spoke as follows :

(Victor Eremita's Speech)

As will be remembered, Plato offers thanks to the gods
for four things. In the fourth place he is grateful for hav-
ing been permitted to be a contemporary of Socrates. For
the three other boons mentioned by him,-'" an earlier Greek
philosopher-- had already thanked the gods, and so I con-
clude that they are worthy our gratitude. But alas ! — even
if I wanted to express my gratitude like these Greeks I
would not be able to do so for what was denied me. Let me
then collect my soul in gratitude for the one good which was
conferred on me also — that I was made a man and not a
woman.

36Cf. note p. 60.

'^'They are, that he had been created a man and not an animal, a
man and not a woman, a Greek and not a Barbarian (Lactantius,
Instit. Ill, 19, 17).

s^Thales of Miletos (Diogenes Laertios I, 33).

86 UniDersity of Texas Bulletin

To be a woman is something so curious, so heterogeneous
and composite that no predicate will fully express these
qualities; and if I should use many predicates they would
contradict one another in such fashion that only a woman
would be able to tolerate the result and, what is worse, feel
happy about it. The fact that she really signifies less than
man — that is not her misfortune, and still less so if she got
to know it, for it might be borne with fortitude. No, her
misfortune consists in her life's having become devoid of
fixed meaning through a romantic conception of things, by
virtue of which, now she signifies all, and now, nothing at
all ; without ever finding out what she really does signify —
and even that is not her misfortune but, rather, the fact
that, being a woman, she never will be able to find out. As
for myself, if I were a woman, I should prefer to be one in
the Orient and as a slave; for to be a slave, neither more
nor less, is at any rate something, in comparison with being,
now heyday, now nothing.

Even if a woman's life did not contain such contrasts, the
distinction she enjoys, and which is rightly assumed to be
hers as a woman — a distinction she does not share with
man — would by itself point to the meaninglessness of her
life. The distinction I refer to is that of gallantry. To be
gallant to woman is becoming in men. Now gallantry con-
sists very simply in conceiving in fantastic categories
that person to whom one is gallant. To be gallant to a
man is, therefore, an insult, for he begs to be excused from
the application of fantastic categories to him. For the
fair sex, however, gallantry signifies a tribute, a distinction,
which is essentially its privilege. Ah me, if only a single
cavalier were gallant to them the case would not be so
serious. But far from it! At bottom every man is gal-
lant, he is unconsciously so. This signifies, therefore, that
it is life itself which has bestowed this perquisite on the
fair sex. Woman on her part unconsciously accepts it.
Here we have the same trouble again; for if only a single
woman did so, another explanation would be necessary.
This is life's characteristic irony.

Now if gallantry contained the truth it ought to be re-

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 87

ciprocal, i.e., gallantry would be the accepted quotation for
the stated difference between beauty on the one hand, and
power, astuteness, and strength, on the other. But this is
not the case, gallantry is essentially woman's due; and the
fact that she unconsciously accepts it may be explained
through the solicitude of nature for the weak and those
treated in a stepmotherly fashion by her, who feel more than
recompensed by an illusion. But precisely this illusion is
her misfortune. It is not seldom the case that nature comes
to the assistance of an afflicted creature by consoling him
with the notion that he is the most beautiful. If that is
so, why, then we may say that nature made good the de-
ficiency since now the creature is endowed with even more
than could be reasonably demanded. But to be beautiful
only in one's imagination, and not to be overcome, indeed,
by sadness, but to be fooled into an illusion — why, that is
still worse mockery. Now, as to being afflicted, woman
certainly is far from having been treated in a stepmotherly
fashion by nature ; still she is so in another sense inasmuch
as she never can free herself from the illusion with which
life has consoled her.

Gathering together one's impressions of a woman's ex-
istence, in order to point out its essential features, one is>
struck by the fact that every woman's life gives one an en-
tirely phantastic impression. In a far more decisive sense
than man she may be said to have turning points in her
career ; for her turning points turn everything upside down.
In one of Tieck's-'* Romantic dramas there occurs a person
who, having once been king of Mesopotamia, now is a green-
grocer in Copenhagen. Exactly as fantastic is every fem-
inine existence. If the girl's name is Juliana, her life is as
follows: erstwhile empress in the wide domains of love,
and titulary queen of all the exaggerations of tomfoolery;
now, Mrs. Peterson, corner Bath Street.

When a child, a girl is less highly esteemed than a boy.
When a little older, one does not know exactly what to make
of her. At last she enters that decisive period in which she

39German poet of the Romantic School (1773-1853).

88 University of Texas Bulletin

holds absolute sway. Worshipfully man approaches her as
a suitor. Worshipfully, for so does every suitor, it is not
the scheme of a crafty deceiver. Even the executioner,
when laying down his fasces to go a-wooing, even he bends
his knee, although he is willing to offer himself up, within
a short time, to domestic executions which he finds so nat-
ural that he is far from seeking any excuse for them in the
fact that public executions have grown so few. The cul-
tured person behaves in the very same manner. He kneels,
he worships, he conceives his lady-love in the most fan-
tastic categories ; and then he very quickly forgets his kneel-
ing position — in fact, he knew full well the while he knelt
that it was fantastic to do so.

If I were a woman I would prefer to be sold by my father
to the highest bidder, as is the custom in the Orient; for
there is at least some sense in such a deal. What misfor-
tune to have been born a woman ! Yet her misfortune really
consists in her not being able to comprehend it, being a
woman. If she does complain, she complains rather about
her Oriental, than her Occidental, status. But if I were a
woman I would first of all refuse to be wooed, and resign
myself to belong to the weaker sex, if such is the case, and
be careful — which is most important if one is proud — of not
going beyond the truth. However, that is of but little con-
cern to her. Juliana is in the seventh heaven, and Mrs.
Peterson submits to her fate.

Let me, then, thank the gods that I was born a man and
not a woman. And still, how much do I forego! For is
not all poetry, from the drinking song to the tragedy, a
deification of woman? All the worse for her and for him
who admires her ; for if he does not look out he will, all of
a sudden, have to pull a long face. The beautiful, the ex-
cellent, all of man's achievement, owes its origin to woman,
for she inspires him. Woman is, indeed, the inspiring ele-
ment in life. How many a love-lorn shepherd has played
on this theme, and how many a shepherdess has listened to
it ! Verily, my soul is without envy and feels only gratitude
to the gods ; for I would rather be a man, though in humble
station, but really so, than be a woman and an indeter-

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 89

minate quantity, rendered happy by a delusion — I would
rather be a concrete thing, with a small but definite mean-
ing, than an abstraction which is to mean all.

As I have said, it is through woman that ideality is born
into the world and — what were man without her! There
is many a man who has become a genius through a woman,
many a one a hero, many a one a poet, many a one even a
saint ; but he did not become a genius through the woman he
married, for through her he only became a privy councillor ;
he did not become a hero through the woman he married,
for through her he only became a general; he did not be-
come a poet through the woman he married, for through
her he only became a father; he did not become a saint
through the woman he married, for he did not marry, and
would have married but one — the one whom he did not
marry; just as the others became a genius, became a hero,
became a poet through the help of the woman they did not
marry. If woman's ideality were in itself inspiring, why,
then the inspiring woman would be the one to whom a man
is united for life. But life tells a different story. It is
only by a negative relation to her that man is rendered
productive in his ideal endeavors. In this sense she is in-
spiring; but to say that she is inspiring, without qualifying
one's statement, is to be guilty of a paralogism*^ which one
must be a woman to overlook. Or has any one ever heard
of any man having become a poet through his wife? So
long as man does not possess her she inspires him. It is
this truth which gives rise to the illusions entertained in
poetry and by women. The fact that he does not possess
her signifies, either, that he is still fighting for her — thus
has woman inspired many a one and rendered him a knight ;
but has any one ever heard of any man having been ren-
dered a knight valiant through his wife? Or, the fact that
he does not possess her signifies that he cannot obtain her
by any manner of means — thus has woman inspired many a
one and roused his ideality ; that is, if there is anything in
him worth while. But a wife, who has things ever so much

*"^Reasoning against the rules of logic.

90 University of Texas Bulletin

worth while for her husband, will hardly arouse any ideal
strivings in him. Or, again, the fact that he does not pos-
sess her signifies that he is pursuing an ideal. Perchance
he loves many, but loving many is also a kind of unrequited
love; and yet the ideality of his soul is to be seen in this
striving and yearning, and not in the small bits of lovable-
ness which make up the sum total of the contributions of all
those he loves.

The highest ideality a woman can arouse in a man con-
sists, in fact, in the awakening within him of the conscious-
ness of immortality. The point of this proof lies in what
one might call the necessity of a reply. Just as one may
remark about some play that it cannot end without this or
that person getting in his say, likewise (says ideality) our
existence cannot be all over with death : I demand a reply !
This proof is frequently furnished, in a positive fashion,
in the public advertiser. I hold that to be entirely proper,
for if proof is to be made in the public advertiser it must
be made in a positive fashion. Thus: Mrs. Petersen, we
learn, has lived a number of years, until in the night of the
24th it pleased Providence, etc. This produces in Mr. Pe-
tersen an attack of reminiscences from his courting days
or, to express it quite plainly, nothing but seeing her again
will ever console him. For this blissful meeting he prepares
himself, in the meanwhile, by taking unto himself another
wife ; for, to be sure, this marriage is by no means as poetic
as the first — still it is a good imitation. This is the proof
positive. Mr. Petersen is not satisfied with demanding a
reply, no, he wants a meeting again in the hereafter.

As is well known, a base metal will often show the gleam
of precious metal. This is the brief silver-gleam. With
respect to the base metal this is a tragic moment, for it must
once for all resign itself to being a base metal. Not so with
Mr. Petersen. The possession of ideality is by rights in-
herent in every person — and now, if I laugh at Mr. Peter-
sen it is not because he, being in reality of base metal, had
but a single silver-gleam; but, rather, because just this sil-
ver-gleam betrays his having become a base metal. Thus
does the philistine look most ridiculous when, arrayed in

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 91

ideality, he affords fitting occasion to say, with Holberg:
"What! does that cow wear a fine dress, too?"*^

The case is this: whenever a woman arouses ideality in
man, and thereby the consciousness of immortality, she al-
ways does so negatively. He who really became a genius,
a hero, a poet, a saint through woman, he has by that very
fact seized on the essence of immortality. Now if the in-
spiring element were positively present in woman, why,
then a man's wife, and only his wife, ought to awaken in
him the consciousness of immortality. But the reverse
holds true. That is, if she is really to awaken ideality in
her husband she must die. Mr. Petersen, to be sure, is not
affected, for all that. But if woman, by her death, does
awaken man's ideality, then is she indeed the cause of all
the great things poetry attributes to her; but note well:
that which she did in a positive fashion for him in no wise
roused his ideality. In fact, her significance in this regard
becomes the more doubtful the longer she lives, because she
will at length really begin to wish to signify something
positive. However, the more positive the proof the less
it proves ; for then Mr. Petersen's longing will be for some
past common experiences whose content was, to all intents
and purposes, exhausted when they were had. Most posi-
tive of all the proof becomes if the object of his longing
concerns their marital spooning — that time when they vis-
ited the Deer Park together! In the same way one might
suddenly feel a longing for the old pair of slippers one used
to be so comfortable in; but that proof is not exactly a
proof for the immortality of the soul. On the other hand,
the more negative the proof, the better it is ; for the nega-
tive is higher than the positive, inasmuch as it concerns our
immortality, and is thus the only positive value.

Woman's main significance lies in her negative contribu-
tion, whereas her positive contributions are as nothing in
comparison but, on the contrary, pernicious. It is this
truth which life keeps from her, consoling her with an illu-
sion which surpasses all that might arise in anj" man's brain.

*i"The Lying-in Room," II, 2.

92 University of Texas Bulletin

and with parental care ordering life in such fashion that
both language and everything else confirm her in her illu-
sion. For even if she be conceived as the very opposite of
inspiring, and rather as the well-spring of all corruption;
whether now we imagine that with her, sin came into the
world, or that it is her infidelity which ruined all — our con-
ception of her is always gallant. That is, when hearing
such opinions one might readily assume that woman were
really able to become infinitely more culpable than man,
which would, indeed, amount to an immense acknowledg-
ment of her powers. Alas, alas ! the case is entirely differ-
ent. There is a secret reading of this text which woman
cannot comprehend ; for, the very next moment, all life owns
to the same conception as the state, which makes man re-
sponsible for his wife. One condemns her as man never is
condemned (for only a real sentence is passed on him, and
there the matter ends), not with her receiving a milder sen-
tence; for in that case not all of her life would be an illu-
sion, but with the case against her being dismissed and the
public, i.e., life, having to defray the costs. One moment,
woman is supposed to be possessed of all possible wiles, the
next moment, one laughs at him whom she deceived, which
surely is a contradiction. Even such a case as that of Poti-
phar's wife does not preclude the possibility of her having
really been seduced. Thus has woman an enormous possi-
bility, such as no man has — an enormous possibility; but
her reality is in proportion. And most terrible of all is the
magic of illusion in which she feels herself happy.

Let Plato then thank the gods for having been born a
contemporary of Socrates : I envy him ; let him offer thanks
for being a Greek : I envy him ; but when he is grateful for
having been born a man and not a woman I join him with
all my heart. If I had been born a woman and could under-
stand what now I can understand — it were terrible! But
if I had been born a woman and therefore could not under-
stand it — that were still more terrible !

But if the case is as I stated it, then it follows that one
had better refrain from any positive relation with woman.
Wherever she is concerned one has to reckon with that in-

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 93

evitable hiatus which renders her happy as she does not
detect the illusion, but which would be a man's undoing if
he detected it.

I thank the gods, then, that I was born a man and not a
woman ; and I thank them, furthermore, that no woman
by some life-long attachment holds me in duty bound to be
constantly reflecting that it ought not to have been.

Indeed, what a passing strange device is marriage ! And
what makes it all the stranger is the suggestion that it is to
be a step taken without thought. And yet no step is more
decisive, for nothing in life is as inexorable and masterful
as the marriage tie. And now so important a step as mar-
riage ought, so we are told, to be taken without reflection !
Yet marriage is not something simple but something im-
mensely complex and indeterminate. Just as the meat of
the turtle smacks of all kinds of meat, so likewise does mar-
riage have a taste of all manner of things; and just as the
turtle is a sluggish animal, likewise is marriage a sluggish
thing. Falling in love is, at least, a simple thing, but mar-
riage— ! Is it something heathen or something Christian,
something spiritual or something profane, or somethinsr
civil, or something of all things? Is it an expression of an
inexplicable love, the elective affinity of souls in delicate
accord with one another; or is it a duty, or a partnership,
or a mere convenience, or the custom of certain countries —
or is it a duty, or a partnership, or a mere convenience, or
the custom of certain countries — or is it a little of all these?
Is one to order the music for it from the town musician or
the organist, or is one to have a little from both? Is it the
minister or the police sergeant who is to make the speech
and enroll the names in the book of life — or in the town
register? Does marriage blow a tune on a comb, or does it
listen to the whisperings "like to those of the fairies from
the grottoes of a summer night" ?*-

And now every Darby imagines he performed such a
potpourri, such incomparably complex music, in getting
married — and imagines that he is still performing it while

*-A quotation from Oehlenschlager's "Aladdin.

94 University of Texas Bulletin

living a married life! My dear fellow-banqueters, ought
we not, in default of a wedding present and congratula-
tions, give each of the conjugal partners a demerit for re-
peated inattentiveness ? It is taxing enough to express a
single idea in one's life; but to think something so com-
plicated as marriage and, consequently, bring it under one
head; to think something so complicated and yet to do jus-
tice to each and every element in it, and have everything
present at the same time — verily, he is a great man who
can accomplish all this! And still every Benedict accom-
plishes it — so he does, no doubt ; for does he not say that he
does it unconsciously? But if this is to be done uncon-
sciously it must be through some higher form of uncon-
sciousness permeating all one's reflective powers. But not
a word is said about this! And to ask any married man
about it means just wasting one's time.

He who has once committed a piece of folly will con-
stantly be pursued by its consequences. In the case of mar-
riage the folly consists in one's having gotten into a mess,
and the punishment, in recognizing, when it is too late, what
one has done. So you will find that the married man, now,
becomes chesty, with a bit of pathos, thinking he has done
something remarkable in having entered wedlock ; now, puts
his tail between his legs in dejection; then again, praises
marriage in sheer self-defense. But as to a thought-unit
which might serve to hold together the disjecta membra*^
of the most heterogeneous conceptions of life contained in
marriage — for that we shall wait in vain.

Therefore, to be a mere Benedict is humbug, and to be a
seducer is humbug, and to wish to experiment with woman
for the sake of "the joke" is also humbug. In fact, the two
last mentioned methods will be seen to involve concessions
to woman on the part of man quite as large as those found
in marriage. The seducer wishes to rise in his own estima-
tion by deceiving her; but this very fact that he deceives
and wishes to deceive — that he cares to deceive, is also a
demonstration of his dependence on woman. And the same

^•■'Scattered members.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 95

holds true of him who wishes to experiment with her.

If I were to imagine any possible relation with woman it
would be one so saturated with reflecton that it would, for
that very reason, no longer be any relation with her at all.
To be an excellent husband and yet on the sly seduce every
girl ; to seem a seducer and yet harbor within one all the
ardor of romanticism — there would be something to that,
for the concession in the first instance were then annihilated
in the second. Certain it is that man finds his true ideality
only in such a reduplication. All merely unconscious ex-
istence must be obliterated, and its obliteration ever cun-
ningly guarded by some sham expression. Such a redupli-
cation is incomprehensible to woman, for it removes from
her the possibility of expressing man's true nature in one
term. If it were possible for woman to exist in such a re-
duplication, no erotic relation with her were thinkable. But,
her nature being such as we all know it to be, any disturb-
ance of the erotic relation is brought about by man's true
nature which ever consists precisely in the annihilation of
that in which she has her being.

Am I then preaching the monastic life and rightly called
Eremita? By no means. You may as well eliminate the
cloister, for after all it is only a direct expression of spirit-
uality and as such but a vain endeavor to express it in
direct terms. It makes small difference whether you use
gold, or silver, or paper money ; but he who does not spend
a farthing but is counterfeit, he will comprehend me. He
to whom every direct expression is but a fraud, he and he
only, is safeguarded better than if he lived in a cloister-cell
— he will be a hermit even if he travelled in an omnibus
day and night.

Scarcely had Victor finished when the Dressmaker jumped
to his feet and threw over a bottle of wine standing before
him ; then he spoke as follows :

(The Dressmaker's Speech)
Well spoken, dear fellow-banqueters, well spoken! The

96 University of Texas Bulletin

longer I hear you speak the more I grow convinced that you
are fellow-conspirators — I greet you as such, I understand
you as such ; for fellow-conspirators one can make out from
afar. And yet, what know you? What does your bit of
theory to which you wish to give the appearance of expe-
rience, your bit of experience which you make over into a
theory — what does it amount to? For every now and then
you believe her a moment and — are caught in a moment!
No, / know woman — from her weak side, that is to say,
I know her. I shrink from no means to make sure about
what I have learned ; for I am a madman, and a madman one
must be to understand her, and if one has not been one be-
fore, one will become a madman, once one understands her.,
The robber has his hiding place by the noisy high-road, and
the ant-lion his funnel in the loose sand, and the pirate his
haunts by the roaring sea : likewise have I may fashion-
shop in the very midst of the teeming streets, seductive,
irresistible to woman as is the Venusberg to men. There,
in a fashion-shop, one learns to know woman, in a practical
way and without any theoretical ado.

Now, if fashion meant nothing than that woman in the
heat of her desire threw off all her clothing — why, then it
would stand for something. But this is not the case, fash-
ion is not plain sensuality, not tolerated debauchery, but an
illicit trade in indecency authorized as proper. And, just
as in heathen Prussia the marriageable girl wore a bell
whose ringing served as a signal to the men, likewise is a
woman's existence in fashion a continual bell-ringing, not
for debauchees but for lickerish voluptuaries. People hold
Fortune to be a woman — ah, yes it is, to be sure, fickle;
still, it is fickle in something, as it may also give much;
and insofar it is not a woman. No ; but fashion is a woman,
for fashion is fickleness in nonsense, and is consistent only
in its becoming ever more crazy.

One hour in my shop is worth more than days and years
without, if it really be one's desire to learn to know woman ;
in my shop, for it is the only one in the capital, there is no
thought of competition. Who, forsooth, would dare to enter
into competition with one who has entirely devoted himself,

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 97

and is still devoting himself, as high-priest in this idol wor-
ship? No, there is not a distinguished assemblage which
does not mention my name first and last ; and there is not a
middle-class gathering where my name, whenever men-
tioned, does not inspire sacred awe, like that of the king;
and there is no dress so idiotic but is accompanied by whis-
pers of admiration when its owner proceeds down the hall
— provided it bears my name; and there is not the lady of
gentle birth who dares pass my shop by, nor the girl of
humble origin but passes it sighing and thinking: if only
I could afford it! Well, neither was she deceived. I de-
ceive no one ; I furnish the finest goods and the most costly,
and at the lowest price, indeed, I sell below cost. The fact
is, I do not wish to make a profit. On the contrary, every
year I sacrifice large sums. And yet do I mean to win, I
mean to, I shall spend my last farthing in order to cor-
rupt, in order to bribe, the tools of fashion so that I may
win the game. To me it is a delight beyond compare to
unroll the most precious stuffs, to cut them out, to clip
pieces from genuine Brussels-lace, in order to make a fool's
costume — I sell to the lowest prices,' genuine goods and in
style.

You believe, perhaps, that woman wants to be dressed
fashionably only at certain times ? No such thing, she wants
to be so all the time and that is her only thought. For a
woman does have a mind, only it is employed about as well
as is the Prodigal Son's substance; and woman does pos-
sess the power of reflection in an incredibly high degree,
for there is nothing so holy but she will in no time discover
it to be reconcilable with her finery — and the chiefest ex-
pression of finery is fashion. What wonder if she does dis-
cover it to be reconcilable; for is not fashion holy to her?
And there is nothing so insignificant but she certainly will
know how to make it count in her finery — and the most fa-
tuous expression of finery is fashion. And there is noth-
ing, nothing in all her attire, not the least ribbon, of whose
relation to fashion she has not a definite conception and
concerning which she is not immediately aware whether the

98 University of Texas Bulletin

lady who just passed by noticed it; because, for whose ben-
efit does she dress, if not for other ladies !

Even in my shop where she comes to be fitted out d la
mode, even there she is in fashion. Just as there is a spe-
cial bathing costume and a special riding habit, likewise
there is a particular kind of dress which it is the fashion
to wear to the dressmaker's shop. That costume is not
insouciant in the same sense as is the negligee a lady is
pleased to be surprised in, earlier in the forenoon, where
the point is her belonging to the fair sex and the coquetry
lies in her letting herself be surprised. The dressmaker
costume, on the other hand, is calculated to be nonchalant
and a bit careless without her being embarrassed thereby;
because a dressmaker stands in a different relation to her
from a cavalier. The coquetry here consists in thus show-
ing herself to a man who, by reason of his station, does not
presume to ask for the lady's womanly recognition, but must
be content with the perquisites which fall abundantly to his
share, without her ever thinking of it ; or without it even
so much as entering her mind to play the lady before a
dressm.aker. The point is, therefore, that her being of the
opposite sex is, in a certain sense, left out of consideration,
and her coquetry invalidated, by the superciliousness of the
noble lady who would smile if any one alluded to any re-
lation existing between her and her dressmaker. When
visited in her negligee she conceals herself, thus displaying
her charms by this very concealment. In my shop she ex-
poses her charms with the utmost nonchalance, for he is
only a dresmaker — and she is a woman. Now, her shawl
slips down and bares some part of her body, and if I did
not know what that means, and what she expects, my repu-
tation would be gone to the winds. Now, she draws her-
self up, a priori fashion, now she gesticulates a posteriori;
now, she sways to and fro in her hips; now, she looks at
herself in the mirror and sees my admiring phiz behind
her in the glass ; now, she minces her words ; now, she trips
along with short steps; now, she hovers; now, she draws
her foot after her in a slovenly fashion ; now, she lets her-
self sink softly into an arm-chair, whilst I with humble de-

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 99

meaner offer her a flask of smelling salts and with my ador-
ation assuage her agitation ; now, she strikes after me play-
fully; now, she drops her handkerchief and, without as
much as a single motion, lets her relaxed arm remain in its
pendent position, whilst I bend down low to pick it up and
return it to her, receiving a little patronizing nod as a
reward. These are the ways of a lady of fashion when in
my shop. Whether Diogenes** made any impression on the
woman who was praying in a somewhat unbecoming pos-
ture, when he asked her whether she did not believe the
gods could see her from behind — ^that I do not know; but
this I do know, that if I should say to her ladyship kneeling
down in church: "The folds of your gown do not fall ac-
cording to fashion," she would be more alarmed than if she
had given offense to the gods. Woe to the outcast, the male
Cinderella, who has not comprehended this! Pro dii im-
mortales,*^ what, pray, is a woman who is not in fashion;
per deos obsecro,*^ and what when she is in fashion !

Whether all this is true? Well, make trial of it: let the
swain, when his beloved one sinks rapturously on his breast,
whispering unintelligibly: "thine forever," and hides her
head on his bosom — let him but say to her : "My sweet Kitty,
your coiffure is not at all in fashion." — Possibly, men don't
give thought to this ; but he who knows it, and has the rep-
utation of knowing it, he is the most dangerous man in the
kingdom. What blissful hours the lover passes with his
sweetheart before marriage I do not know ; but of the bliss-
ful hours she spends in my shop he hasn't the slightest ink-
ling, either. Without my special license and sanction a
marriage is null and void, anyway — or else an entirely ple-
beian affair. Let it be the very moment when they are to
meet before the altar, let her step forward with the very
l)est conscience in the world that everything was bought in
my shop and tried on there — and now, if I were to rush up
and exclaim: "But mercy! gracious lady, your myrtle
wreath is all awry" — ^why, the whole ceremony might be

♦*See Diogenes Laertios, VI, 37.

'"'By the immortal gods.

♦^I adjure you by the gods.

100 University of Texas Bulletin

postponed, for aught I know. But men do not suspect these
things, one must be a dressmaker to know.

So immense is the power of reflection needed to fathom a
woman's thought that only a man who dedicates himself
wholly to the task will succeed, and even then only if gifted
to start with. Happy therefore the man who does not as-
sociate with any woman, for she is not his, anyway, even if
she be no other man's ; for she is possessed by that phantom
born of the unnatural intercourse of woman's reflection with
itself, fashion. Do you see, for this reason should woman
always swear by fashion — ^then were there some force in
her oath; for after all, fashion is the thing she is always
thinking of, the only thing she can think together with, and
into, everything. For instance, the glad message has gone
forth from my shop to all fashionable ladies that fashion
decrees the use of a particular kind of head-dress to be
worn in church, and that this hesid-dress, again, must be
somewhat different for High Mass and for the afternoon
service. Now when the bells are ringing the carriage stops
in front of my door. Her ladyship descends (for also this
has been decreed, that no one can adjust that head-dress
save I, the fashion-dealer), I rush out, making low bows,
and lead her into my cabinet. And whilst she languish-
ingly reposes I put everything in order. Now she is ready
and has looked at herself in the mirror; quick as any mes-
senger of the gods I hasten in advance, open the door of my
cabinet with a bow, then hasten to the door of my shop
and lay my arm on my breast, like some oriental slave ; but,
encouraged by a gracious courtesy, I even dare to throw
her an adoring and admiring kiss — now she is seated in
her carriage — oh dear! she left her hymn book behind. I
hasten out again and hand it to her through the carriage
window, I permit myself once more to remind her to hold
her head a trifle more to the right, and herself to arrange
things, should her head-dress become a bit disordered when
descending. She drives away and is edified.

You believe, perhaps, that it is only great ladies who wor-
ship fashion, but far from it! Look at my sempstresses
for whose dress I spare no expense, so that the dogmas of

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 101

fashion may be proclaimed most emphatically from my shop.
They form a chorus of half-witted creatures, and I myself
lead them on as high-priest, as a shining example, squan-
dering all, solely in order to make all womankind ridiculous.
For when a seducer makes the boast that every woman's
virtue has its price, I do not believe him; but I do believe
that every woman at an early time will be crazed by the
maddening and defiling introspection taught her by fashion,
which will corrupt her more thoroughly than being seduced.
I have made trial more than once. If not able to corrupt
her myself I set on her a few of fashion's slaves of her own
slation ; for just as one may train rats to bite rats, likewise
is the crazed woman's sting like that of the tarantula.
And most especially dangerous is it when some man lends
his help.

Whether I serve the Devil or God I do not know; but I
am right, I shall be right, I will be, so long as I possess a
single farthing, I will be until the blood spurts out of my
fingers. The physiologist pictures the shape of woman to
show the dreadful effects of wearing a corset, and beside it
he draws a picture of her normal figure. That is all en-
tirely correct, but only one of the drawings has the valid-
ity of truth: they all wear corsets. Describe, therefore,
the miserable, stunted perversity of the fashion-mad woman,
describe the insidious introspection devouring her, and then
describe the womanly modesty which least of all knows
about itself — do so and you have judged woman, have in
very truth passed terrible sentence on her. If ever I dis-
cover such a girl who is contented and demure and not yet
corrupted by indecent intercourse with women — she shall
fall nevertheless. I shall catch her in my toils, already she
stands at the sacrificial altar, that is to say, in my shop.
With the most scornful glance a haughty monchalance can
assume I measure her appearance, she perishes with fright ;
a peal of laughter from the adjoining room where sit my
trained accomplices annihilates her. And afterwards,
when I have gotten her rigged up a la mode and she looks
crazier than a lunatic, as crazy as one who would not be
accepted even in a lunatic asylum, then she leaves me in a

102 University of Texas Bulletin

state of bliss — no man, not even a god, were able to inspire
fear in her; for is she not dressed in fashion?

Do you comprehend me now, do you comprehend why I
call you fellow-conspirators, even though in a distant way?
Do you now comprehend my conception of woman ? Every-
thing in life is a matter of fashion, the fear of God is a
matter of fashion, and so are love, and crinolines, and a ring
through the nose. To the utmost of my ability will I there-
fore come to the support of the exalted genius who wishes
to laugh at the most ridiculous of all animals. If woman
has reduced everything to a matter of fashion, then will I,
with the help of fashion, prostitute her, as she deserves to
be ; I have no peace, I the dressmaker, my soul rages when
I think of my task — she will yet be made to wear a ring
through her nose. Seek therefore no sweetheart, abandon
love as you would the most dangerous neighborhood; for
the one whom you love would also be made to go with a ring
through her nose.

Thereupon John, called the Seducer, spoke as follows:

(The Speech of John the Seducer)

My dear boon companions, is Satan plaguing you? For,
indeed, you speak like so many hired mourners, your eyes
are red with tears and not with wine. You almost move me
to tears also, for an unhappy lover does have a miserable
time of it in life. Hinc illae lacrimae.^'^ I, however, am a
happy lover, and my only wish is to remain so. Very pos-
sibly, that is one of the concessions to woman which Victor
is so afraid of. Why not? Let it be a concession! Loos-
ening the lead foil of this bottle of champagne also is a con-
cession ; letting its foaming contents flow into my glass also
is a concession ; and so is raising it to my lips— now I drain
it — concedo.*^ Now, however, it is empty, hence I need no
more concessions. Just the same with girls. If some un-

<^ Therefore those tears.
***I concede.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 103

happy lover has bought his kiss too dearly, this proves to
me only that he does not know, either how to take what is
coming to him or how to do it. I never pay too much for
this sort of thing — that is a matter for the girls to decide.
What this signifies? To me it signifies the most beautiful,
the most delicious, and well-nigh the most persuasive, argu-
mentum ad hominem; but since every woman, at least once
in her life, possesses this argumentative freshness I do not
see any reason why I should not let myself be persuaded.
Our young friend wishes to make this experience in his
thought. Why not buy a cream puff and be content with
looking at it? I mean to enjoy. No mere talk for me!
Just as an old song has it about a kiss : es ist kaum zu sehn,
es ist nur fiir Lippen, die genau sich verstehn*^ — i^nderstand
each other so exactly that any reflection about the matter
is but an impertinence and a folly. He who is twenty and
does not grasp the existence of the categorical imperative
"enjoy thyself" — he is a fool; and he who does not seize
the opportunity is and remains a Christianfelder.^®

However, you all are unhappy lovers, and that is why you
are not satisfied with woman as she is. The gods forbid!
As she is she pleases me, just as she is. Even Constantin's
category of "the joke" seems to contain a secret'desire. I,
on the other hand, I am gallant. And why not? Gallantry
costs nothing and gives one all and is the condition for all
erotic pleasure. Gallantry is the Masonic language of the
senses and of voluptuousness, between man and woman*. It
is a natural language, as love's language in general is. It
consists not of sounds but of desires disguised and of ever
changing wishes. That an unhappy lover may be ungallant
enough to wish to convert his deficit into a draught payable
in immortality — that I understand well enough. That is to
say, I for my part do not understand it ; for to me a woman
has sufficient intrinsic value. I assure every woman of this,
it is the truth ; and at the same time it is certain that I am

■•^It can hardly be seen, it is but for lips which understand each
other exactly.

-oChristiansfeld, a town in South Jutland, was the seat of a colony
of Herrhutian Pietists.

104 University of Texas Bulletin

the only one who is not deceived by this truth. As to
whether a despoiled woman is worth less than man — about
that I find no information in my price list. I do not pick
flowers already broken, I leave them to the married men to
use for Shrove-tide decoration. Whether e. g. Edward
wishes to consider the matter again, and again fall in love
with Cordelia, '^^ or simply repeat the affair in his reflection
— that is his own business. Why should I concern myself
with other peoples' affairs ! I explained to her at an earlier
time what I thought of her; and, in truth, she convinced
me, convinced me to my absolute satisfaction, that my gal-
lantry was well applied.

Concedo. Concessi.-'^ If I should meet with another
Cordelia, why then I shall enact a comedy "Ring number
2."^^ But you are unhappy lovers and have conspired to-
gether, and are worse deceived than the girls, notwithstand-
ing that you are richly endowed by nature. But decision —
the decision of desire, is the most essential thing in life.
Our young friend will always remain an onlooker. Victor
is an unpractical enthusiast. Constantin has acquired his
good sense at too great a cost; and the fashion dealer is a
madman. Stuff and nonsense! With all four of you busy
about one girl, nothing would come of it.

Let one have enthusiasm enough to idealize, taste enough
to join in the clinking of glasses at the festive board of en-
joyment, sense enough to break off — to break off absolutely,
as does Death, madness enough to wish to enjoy all over
again — if you have all that you will be the favorite of gods
and girls.

But of what avail to speak here? I do not intend to
make proselytes. Neither is this the place for that. To be
sure I love wine, to be sure I love the abundance of a ban-
quet— all that is good; but let a girl be my company, and

'iThe reference is to the "Diary of the Seducer" (in "Either — Or,"
part I). Edward is the scorned lover of Cordelia who is seduced by
John.

521 concede. I have conceded.

'^Reference to a comedy by Farquhar, which enjoyed a moderate
popularity in Copenhagen.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 105

then I shall be eloquent. Let then Constantin have my
thanks for the banquet, and the wine, and the excellent ap-
pointments— the speeches, however, were but indifferent.
But in order that things shall have a better ending I shall
now pronounce a eulogy on woman.

Just as he who is to speak in praise of the divinity must
be inspired by the divinity to speak worthily, and must
therefore be taught by the divinity as to what he shall say,
likewise he who would speak of women. For woman, even
less than the divinity, is a mere figment of man's brain, a
day-dream, or a notion that occurs to one and which one
may argue about pro et contra. Nay, one learns from
woman alone what to say of her. And the more teachers
one has had, the better. The first time one is a disciple,
the next time one is already over the chief diflficulties, just
as one learns in formal and learned disputations how to use
the last opponent's compliments against a new opponent.
Nevertheless nothing is lost. For as little as a kiss is a
mere sample of good things, and as little as an embrace is an
exertion, just as little is this experience exhaustive. In fact
it is essentially different from the mathematical proof of a
theorem, which remains ever the same, even though other
letters be substituted. This method is one befitting mathe-
matics and ghosts, but not love and women, because each
is a new proof, corroborating the truth of the theorem in
a different manner. It is my joy that, far from being less
perfect than man, the female sex is, on the contrary, the
more perfect. I shall, however, clothe my speech in a myth ;
and I shall exult, on woman's account whom you have so
unjustly maligned, if my speech pronounce judgment on
your souls, if the enjoyment of her beckon you only to flee
you, as did the fruits from Tantalus ; because you have fled,
and thereby insulted, woman. Only thus, forsooth, may she
be insulted, even though she scorn it, and though punish-
ment instantly falls on him who had the audacity. I, how-
ever, insult no one. That is but the notion of married men,
and a slander ; whereas, in reality, I respect her more highly
than does the man she is married to.

Originally there was but one sex, so the Greeks relate,

106 University of Texas Bulletin

and that was man's. Splendidly endowed he was, so he
did honor to the gods — so splendidly endowed that the same
happened to them as sometimes happens to a poet who has
expended all his energy on a poetic invention: they grew
jealous of man. Ay, what is worse, they feared that he
would not willingly bow under their yoke; they feared,
though with small reason, that he might cause their very
heaven to totter. Thus they had raised up a power they
scarcely held themselves able to curb. Then there was anx-
iety and alarm in the council of the gods. Much had they
lavished in their generosity on the creation of man ; but all
must be risked now, for reason of bitter necessity; for all
was at stake — so the gods believed — and recalled he could
not be, as a poet may recall his invention. And by force he
could not be subdued, or else the gods themselves could have
done so; but precisely of that they despaired. He would
have to be caught and subdued, then, by a power weaker
than his own and yet stronger — one strong enough to com-
pel him. What a marvellous power this would have to be !
However, necessity teaches even the gods to surpass them-
selves in inventiveness. They sought and they found. That
power was woman, the marvel of creation, even in the eyes
of the gods a greater marvel than man — a discovery which
the gods in their naivete could not help but applaud them-
selves for. What more can be said in her praise than that
she was able to accomplish what even the gods did not be-
lieve themselves able to do; and what more can be said in
her praise than that she did accomplish it! But how mar-
vellous a creation must be hers to have accomplished it.

It was a ruse of the gods. Cunningly the enchantress
was fashioned, for no sooner had she bewitched man than
she changed and caught him in all the circumstantialities
of existence. It was that the gods had desired. But what,
pray, can be more delicious, or more entrancing and be-
witching, than what the gods themselves contrived, when
battling for their supremacy, as the only means of luring
man? And most assuredly it is so, for woman is the only,
and the most seductive, power in heaven and on earth.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 107

When compared with her in this sense man will indeed be
found to be exceedingly imperfect.

And the stratagem of the gods was crowned with suc-
cess ; but not always. There have existed at all times some
men — a few — who have detected the deception. They per-
ceive well enough woman's loveliness — more keenly, indeed
than the others — ^but they also suspect the real state of
affairs. I call them erotic natures and count myself among
them. Men call them seducers, woman has no name for
them — such persons are to her unnameable. These erotic
natures are the truly fortunate ones. They live more lux-
uriously than do the very gods, for they regale themselves
with food more delectable than ambrosia, and they drink
what is more delicious than nectar; they eat the most se-
ductive invention of the gods' most ingenious thought, they
are ever eating dainties set for a bait — ah, incomparable
delight, ah, blissful fare — they are ever eating but the dain-
ties set for a bait; and they are never caught. All other
men greedily seize and devour it, like bumpkins eating their
cabbage, and are caught. Only the erotic nature fully ap-
preciates the dainties set out for bait — he prizes them in-
finitely. Woman divines this, and for that reason there is
a secret understanding between him and her. But he knows
also that she is a bait, and that secret he keeps to himself.

That nothing more marvellous, nothing more delicious,
nothing more seductive, than woman can be devised, for
that vouch the gods and their pressing need which hight-
ened their powers of invention; for that vouches also the
fact that they risked all, and in shaping her moved heaven
and earth.

I now forsake the myth. The conception "man" corre-
sponds to his "idea." I can therefore, if necessary, think
of an individual man as existing. The idea of woman, on
the other hand, is so general that no one single woman is
able to express it completely. She is not contemporaneous
with man (and hence of less noble origin), but a later crea-
tion, though more perfect than he. Whether now the gods
took some part from him whilst he slept, from fear of wak-
ing him by taking too much ; or whether they bisected him

108 University of Texas Bulletin

and made woman out of the one half — at any rate it was
man who was partitioned. Hence she is the equal of man
only after this partition. She is a delusion and a snaref^ but
is so only afterwards, and for him who is deluded. She is
finiteness incarnate; but in her first stage she is finiteness
raised to the highest degree in the deceptive infinitude of
all divine and human illusions. Now, the deception does
not exist — one instant longer, and one is deceived.

She is finiteness, and as such she is a collective : one
woman represents all women. Only the erotic nature com-
prehends this and therefore knows how to love many with-
out ever being deceived, sipping the while all the delights
the cunning gods were able to prepare. For this reason,
as I said, woman cannot be fully expressed by one formula,
but is, rather, an infinitude of finalities. He who wishes
to think her "idea" will have the same experience as he who
gazes on a sea of nebulous shapes which ever form anew,
or as he who is dazed by looking over the waves whose foamy
crests ever mock one's vision ; for her "idea" is but the work-
shop of possibilities. And to the erotic nature these possi-
bilities are the everlasting reason for his worship.

So the gods created her delicate and ethereal as if out of
the mists of the summer night, yet goodly like ripe fruit;
light like a bird, though the repository of what attracts all
the world — light because the play of the forces is harmo-
niously balanced in the invisible center of a negative rela-
tion;'^* slender in growth, with definite lines, yet her body
sinuous with beautiful curves; perfect, yet ever appearing
as if completed but now ; cool, delicious, and refreshing like
new-fallen snow, yet blushing in coy transparency; happy
like some pleasantry which makes one forget all one's sor-
row ; soothing as being the end of desire, and satisfying in
herself being the stimulus of desire. And the gods had
calculated that man, when first beholding her, would be
amazed, as one who sees himself, though familiar with that
sight — would stand in amaze as one who sees himself in the

■'•^I.e., evidently, she does not exist because of herself; hence she
\f. in a "negative" relation to herself. The center of this relation is
"what attracts all the world."

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 109

splendor of perfection — would stand in amaze as one who
beholds what he did never dream he would, yet beholds
what, it would seem, ought to have occurred to him before —
sees what is essential to life and yet gazes on it as being
the very mystery of existence. It is precisely this contra-
diction in his admiration which nurses desire to life, while
this same admiration urges him ever nearer, so that he can-
not desist from gazing, cannot desist from believing him-
self familiar with the sight, without really daring to ap-
proach, even though he cannot desist from desiring.

When the gods had thus planned her form they were
seized with fear lest they might not have the wherewithal
to give it existence; but what they feared even more was
herself. For they dared not let her know how beautiful she
was, apprehensive of having some one in the secret who
might spoil their ruse. Then was the crowning touch given
to their wondrous creation: they made her faultless; but
they concealed all this from her in the nescience of her in-
nocence, and concealed it doubly from her in the impene-
trable mystery of her modesty. Now she was perfect, and
victory certain. Inviting she had been before, but now
doubly so through her shyness, and beseeching through her
shrinking, and irresistible through herself offering resist-
ance. The gods were jubilant. And no allurement has ever
been devised in the world so great as is woman, and no al-
lurement is as compelling as is innocence, and no tempta-
tion is as ensnaring as is modesty, and no deception is as
matchless as is woman. She knows of nothing, still her
modesty is instinctive divination. She is distinct from
man, and the separating wall of modesty parting them is
more decisive than Aladdin's sword separating him from
Gulnare;^" and yet, when like Pyramis he puts his head
to this dividing wall of modesty, the erotic nature will per-
ceive all pleasures of desire divined within as from afar.

Thus does woman tempt. Men are wont to set forth the
most precious things they possess as a delectation for the
gods, nothing less will do. Thus is woman a show-bread.

^In Oehlenschlager's "Aladdin.

110 University of Texas Bulletin

the gods knew of naught comparable to her. She exists,
she is present, she is with us, close by; and yet she is re-
moved from us to an infinite distance when concealed in her
modesty — until she herself betrays her hiding place, she
knows not how : it is not she herself, it is life which informs
on her. Roguish she is like a child who in playing peeps
forth from his hiding place, yet her roguishness is inex-
plicable, for she does not know of it herself, she is ever
mysterious — mysterious when she casts down her eyes,
mysterious when she sends forth the messengers of her
glance which no thought, let alone any word, is able to fol-
low. And yet is the eye the "interpreter" of the soul ! What,
then, is the explanation of this mystery if the interpreter
too is unintelligible? Calm she is like the hushed stillness
of eventide, when not a leaf stirs ; calm like a consciousness
as yet unaware of aught. Her heart-beats are as regular
as if life were not present ; and yet the erotic nature, listen-
ing with his stethoscopically practiced ear, detects the
dithyrambic pulsing of desire sounding along unbeknown.
Careless she is like the blowing of the wind, content like the
profound ocean, and yet full of longing like a thing biding
its explanation. My friends! My mind is softened, in-
describably softened. I comprehend that also my life ex-
presses an idea, even if you do not comprehend me. I too
have discovered the secret of existence ; I too serve a divine
idea — and, assuredly, I do not serve it for nothing. If
woman is a ruse of the gods, this means that she is to be
seduced ; and if woman is not an "idea," the true inference
is that the erotic nature wishes to love as many of them
as possible.

What luxury it is to relish the ruse without being duped,
only the erotic nature comprehends. And how blissful it
is to be seduced, woman alone knows. I know that from
woman, even though I never yet allowed any one of them
time to explain it to me, but re-asserted my independence,
serving the idea by a break as sudden as that caused by
death; for a bride and a break are to one another like fe-
male and male.''" Only woman is aware of this, and she is

''"In the Danish, a pun on the homonyms en brud and et hrud.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 111

aware of it together with her seducer. No married man
will ever grasp this. Nor does she ever speak with him
about it. She resigns herself to her fate, she knows that
it must be so and that she can be seduced only once. For
this reason she never really bears malice against the man
who seduced her. That is to say, if he really did seduce
her and thus expressed the idea. Broken marriage vows
and that kind of thing is, of course, nonsense and no se-
duction. Indeed, it is by no means so great a misfortune
for a woman to be seduced. In fact, it is a piece of good
fortune for her. An excellently seduced girl may make
an excellent wife. If I myself were not fit to be a seducer
— however deeply I feel my inferior qualifications in this
respect — if I chose to be a married man, I should always
choose a girl already seduced, so that I would not have to
begin my marriage by seducing my wife. Marriage, to be
sure, also expresses an idea; but in relation to the idea of
marriage that quality is altogether immaterial which is
the absolutely essential condition for my idea. Therefore,
a marriage ought never to be planned to begin as though it
were the beginning of a story of seduction. So much is
sure: there is a seducer for every woman. Happy is she
whose good fortune it is to meet just him.

Through marriage, on the other hand, the gods win their
victory. In it the once seduced maiden walks through life
by the side of her husband, looking back at times, full of
longing, resigned to her fate, until she reaches the goal of
life. She dies ; but not in the same sense as man dies. She
is volatilized and resolved into that mysterious primal ele-
ment of which the gods formed her — she disappears like a
dream, like an impermanent shape whose hour is past. For
what is woman but a dream, and the highest reality withal !
Thus does the erotic nature comprehend her, leading her,
and being led by her in the moment of seduction, beyond
time — where she has her true existence, being an illusion.
Through her husband, on the other hand, she becomes a
creature of this world, and he through her.

Marvellous nature! If I did not admire thee, a woman
would teach me; for truly she is the venerabile of life.

112 University of Texas Bulletin

Splendidly didst thou fashion her, but more splendidly still
in that thou never didst fashion one woman like another.
In man, the essential i s the essential, and insofar always
alike ; but in woman the adventitious is the essential, and is
thus an inexhaustible source of differences. Brief is her
splendor; but quickly the pain is forgotten, too, when the
same splendor is proffered me anew. It is true, I too am
aware of the unbeautiful which may appear in her there-
after; but she is not thus with her seducer.

They rose from the table. It needed but a hint from
Constantin, for the participants understood each other with
military precision whenever there was a question of face
or turn about. With his invisible baton of command, elas-
tic like a divining rod in his hand, Constantin once more
touched them in order to call forth in them a fleeting remin-
iscence of the banquet and the spirit of enjoyment which
had prevailed before but was now, in some measure, sub-
merged through the intellectual effort of the speeches — in
order that the note of glad festivity which had disappeared
might, by way of resonance, return once more among the
guests in a brief moment of recollection. He saluted with
his full glass as a signal of parting, emptying it, and then
flinging it against the door in the rear wall. The others
followed his example, consummating this symbolic action
with all the solemnity of adepts. Justice was thus done the
pleasure of stopping short — that royal pleasure which,
though briefer, yet is more liberating than any other pleas-
ure. With a libation this pleasure ought to be entered upon,
with the libation of flinging one's glass into destruction and
oblivion, and tearing one's self passionately away from every
memory, as if it were a danger to one's life: this libation
is to the gods of the nether world. One breaks off,
and strength is needed to do that, greater strength than to
sever a knot by a sword-blow ; for the difficulty of the knot
tends to arouse one's passion, but the passion required for
breaking off must be of one's own making. In a superficial

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 113

sense the result is, of course, the same ; but from an artistic
point of view there is a world of difference between some-
thing ceasing or simply coming to an end, and it being
broken off by one's own free will — whether it is a mere oc-
currence or a passionate decision; whether it is all over,
like a school song, because there is no more to it,
or whether it is terminated by the Caesarian operation of
one's own pleasure; whether it is a triviality every one
has experienced, or the secret which escapes most.

Constantin's flinging his beaker against the door was in-
tended merely as a symbolic rite ; nevertheless, his so doing
was, in a way, a decisive act ; for when the last glass was
shattered the door opened, and just as he who presump-
uously knocked at Death's door and, on its opening, beheld
the powers of annihilation, so the banqueters beheld the
corps of destruction ready to demolish everything — a me-
mento which in an instant put them to flight from that
place, while at the very same moment the entire surround-
ings had been reduced to the semblance of ruin.

A carriage stood ready at the door. At Constantin's in-
vitation they seated themselves in it and drove away in good
spirits; for that tableau of destruction which they left be-
hind had given their souls fresh elasticity. After having
covered a distance of several miles a halt was made. Here
Constantin took his leave as host, informing them that five
carriages were at their disposal — each one was free to suit
his own pleasure and drive wherever he wanted, whether
alone or in company with whomsoever he pleased. Thus a
rocket, propelled by the force of the powder, ascends at a
single shot, remains collected for an instant, in order then
to spread out to all the winds.

While the horses were being hitched to the carriages the
nocturnal banqueters strolled a little way down the road.
The fresh air of the morning purified their hot blood with
its coolness, and they gave themselves up to it entirely.
Their forms, and the groups in which they ranged them-
selves, made a phantastic impression on me. For when the
morning sun shines on field and meadow, and on every crea-
ture which in the night found rest and strength to rise up

114 University of Texas Bulletin

jubilating with the sun — in this there is only a pleasing,
mutual understanding; but a nightly company, viewed by
the morning light and in smiling surroundings, makes a
downright uncanny impression. It makes one think of
spooks which have been surprised by daylight, of subter-
ranean spirits which are unable to regain the crevice
through which they may vanish, because it is visible only
in the dark; of unhappy creatures in whom the difference
between day and night has become obliterated through the
monotony of their sufferings.

A foot path led them through a small patch of field to-
ward a garden surrounded by a hedge, from behind whose
concealment a modest summer-cottage peeped forth. At
the end of the garden, toward the field, there was an arbor
formed by trees. Becoming aware of people being in the
arbor, they all grew curious, and with the spying glances
of men bent on observation, the besiegers closed in about
that pleasant place of concealment, hiding themselves, and
as eager as emissaries of the police about to take some one
by surprise. Like emissaries of the police — well, to be sure,
their appearance made the misunderstanding possible that
it was they whom the minions of the law might be looking
for. Each one had occupied a point of vantage for peep-
ing in, when Victor drew back a step and said to his neigh-
bor, "Why, dear me, if that is not Judge William and his
wife!"

They were surprised — not the two whom the foliage con-
cealed and who were all too deeply concerned with their
domestic enjoyment to be observers. They felt themselves
too secure to believe themselves an object of any one's ob-
servation excepting the morning sun's which took pleasure
in looking in to them, whilst a gentle zephyr moved the
boughs above them, and the reposefulness of the country-
side, as well as all things around them girded the little
arbor about with peace. The happy married couple was
not surprised and noticed nothing. That they were a mar-
ried couple was clear enough; one could perceive that at a
glance — alas ! if one is something of an observer one's self.
Even if nothing in the wide world, nothing, whether overtly

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 115

or covertly, if nothing, I say, threatens to interfere with the
happiness of lovers, yet they are not thus secure when sit-
ting together. They are in a state of bliss ; and yet it is as if
there were some power bent on separating them, so firmly
they clasp one another; and yet it is as if there were some
enemy present against whom they must defend themselves ;
and yet it is as if they could never become sufficiently re-
assured. Not thus married people, and not thus that mar-
ried couple in the arbor. How long they had been married,
however, that was not to be determined with certainty. To
be sure, the wife's activity at the tea-table revealed a sure-
ness of hand born of practice, but at the same time such
almost childlike interest in her occupation as if she were
a newly married woman and in that middle condition when
she is not, as yet, sure whether marriage is fun or earnest,
whether being a housewife is a calling, or a game, or a
pastime. Perhaps she had been married for some longer
time but did not generally preside at the tea-table, or per-
haps did so only out here in the country, or did it perhaps
only that morning which, possibly, had a special signifi-
cance for them. Who could tell? All calculation is frus-
trated to a certain degree by the fact that every personality
exhibits some originality which keeps time from leaving
its marks. When the sun shines in all his summer glory
one thinks straightway that there must be some festal oc-
casion at hand — that it cannot be so for every-day use, or
that it is the first time, or at least one of the first times;
for surely, one thinks, it cannot be repeated for any length
of time. Thus would think he who saw it but once, or saw
it for the first time; and I saw the wife of the justice for
the first time. He who sees the object in question every
day may think differently ; provided he sees the same thing.
But let the judge decide about that!

As I remarked, our amiable housewife was occupied.
She poured boiling water into the cups, probably to warm
them, emptied them again, set a cup on a platter, poured
the tea and served it with sugar and cream — now all was
ready; was it fun or earnest? In case a person did not
relish tea at other times — he should have sat in the judge's

116 University of Texas Bulletin

place; for just then that drink seemed most inviting to me,
only the inviting air of the lovely woman herself seemed
to me more inviting.

It appeared that she had not had time to speak until then.
Now she broke the silence and said, while serving him his
tea : "Quick, now, dear, and drink while it is hot, the morn-
ing air is quite cool, anyway ; and surely the least I can do
for you is to be a little careful of you." "The least?" the
judge answered laconically, "Yes, or the most, or the only
thing." The judge looked at her inquiringly, and whilst
he was helping himself she continued : "You interrupted me
yesterday when I wished to broach the subject, but I have
thought about it again; many times I have thought about
it, and now particularly, you know yourself in reference to
whom : it is certainly true that if you hadn't married, you
would have been far more successful in your career." With
his cup still on the platter the judge sipped a first mouthful
with visible enjoyment, thoroughly refreshed ; or was it
perchance the joy over his lovely wife ; I for my part believe
it was the latter. She, however, seemed only to be glad that
it tasted so good to him. Then he put down his cup on the
table at his side, took out a cigar, and said : "May I light it
at your chafing-dish"? "Certainly," she said, and handed
him a live coal on a tea-spoon. He lit his cigar and put his
arm about her waist whilst she leaned against his shoulder.
He turned his head the other way to blow out the smoke,
and then he let his eyes rest on her with a devotion such
as only a glance can reveal; yet he smiled, but this glad
smile had in it a dash of sad irony. Finally he said : "Do
you really believe so, my girl?" "What do you mean?"
she answered. He was silent again, his smile gained the
upper hand, but his voice remained quite serious, neverthe-
less. "Then I pardon you your previous folly, seeing that
you yourself have forgotten it so quickly ; thou speakest as
one of the foolish women speaketh^'^ — what great career
should I have had?" His wife seemed embarrassed for a
moment by this return, but collected her wits quickly and

"Job 2, 10.

Selections from the WHtings of Kierkegaard 117

now explained her meaning with womanly eloquence. The
judge looked down before him, without interrupting her;
but as she continued he began to drum on the table with the
fingers of his right hand, at the same time humming a tune.
The words of the song were audible for a moment, just as
the pattern of a texture now becomes visible, now disap-
pears again ; and then again they were heard no longer as
he hummed the tune of the song : "The goodman he went to
the forest, to cut the wands so white." After this melo-
dramatic performance, consisting in the justice's wife ex-
plaining herself whilst he hummed his tune, the dialogue
set in again. "I am thinking," he remarked, "I am think-
ing you are ignorant of the fact that the Danish Law per-
mits a man to castigate his wife'^ — a pity only that the law
does not indicate on which occasions it is permitted." His
wife ?miled at his threat and continued : "Now why can I
never get you to be serious when I touch on this matter?
You do not understand me : believe me, I mean it sincerely,
it seems to me a very beautiful thought. Of course, if you
'veren't my husband I would not dare to entertain it; but
now I have done' so, for your sake and for my sake ; and now
be nice and serious, for my sake, and answer me frankly."
"No, you can't get me to be serious, and a serious answer
you won't get ; I must either laugh at j' ou, or make you for-
get it, as before, or beat you ; or else you must stop talking
pbout it, or I shall have to make you keep silent about it
some other way. You see, it is a joke, and that is why there
are so many ways out." He arose, pressed a kiss on her
brow, laid her arm in his, and then disappeared in a leafy
valk which led from the arbor.

The arbor was empty; there was nothing else to do, so
the hostile corps of occupation withdrew without making
any gains. Still, the others were content with uttering

^'"According to the Jutland Laws (A. D. 1241) a man is oermitted
to punish his wife, when she has misbehaved, with stick and with
rod, but not with weapon. In the Danish Law (1683) this right is
restricted to children and servants. S. V.

118 University of Texas Bulletin

some malicious remarks. The company returned but missed
Victor. He had rounded the corner and, in walking along
the garden, had come up to the country home. The doors
of a garden-room facing the lawn were open, and likewise
a window. Very probably he had seeri something which
attracted his attention. He leapt into the window, and
leapt out again just as the party were approaching, for
they had been looking for him. Triumphantly he held up
some papers in his hand and exclaimed : "One of the judge's
manuscripts!^'' Seeing that I edited his other works it is
no more than my duty that I should edit this one too." He
put it into his pocket; or, rather, he was about to do so;
for as he was bending his arm and already had his hand with
the manuscript half-way down in his pocket I managed to
steal it from him.

But who, then, am I ? Let no one ask ! If it hasn't oc-
curred to you before to ask about it I am over the difficulty ;
lor now the worst is behind me. For that matter, I am not
worth asking about, for I am the least of all things, people
woyld put me in utter confusion by asking about me. I
am pure existence, and therefore smaller, almost, than noth-
ing. I am "pure existence" which is present everywhere
but still is never noticed; for I am ever vanishing. I am
like the line above which stands the summa summar'um —
who cares about the line? By my own strength I can ac-
complish nothing, for even the idea to steal the manuscript
from Victor was not my own idea ; for this very idea which,
as a thief would say, induced me to "borrow" the manu-
script, was borrowed from him. And now, when editing
this manuscript, I am, again, nothing at all ; for it rightly
belongs to the judge. And as editor, I am in my nothing-
ness only a kind of nemesis on Victor, who imagined that
he had the prescriptive right to do so.

''-•Containing the second part of "Stages on Life's Road," entitled
'Reflections on Marriage in Refutation of Objections."

FEAR AND TREMBLING

INTRODUCTION

Not only in the world of commerce but also in the world
of ideas our age has arranged a regular clearance-sale.
Everything may be had at such absurdedly low prices that
very soon the question will arise whether any one cares to
bid. Every waiter with a speculative turn who carefully
marks the significant progress of modern philosophy, every
lecturer in philosophy, every tutor, student, every sticker-
and-quitter of philosophy — they are not content with doubt-
ing everything, but "go right on." It might, possibly, be
ill-timed and inopportune to ask them whither they are
bound ; but it is no doubt polite and modest to ,take it for
granted that they have doubted everything — else it were a
curious statement for them to make, that they were pro-
ceeding onward. So they have, all of them, completed that
preliminary operation and, it would seem, with such ease
that they do not think it necessary to waste a word about
how they did it. The fact is, not even he who looked anx-
iously and with a troubled spirit for some little point of in-
formation, ever found one, nor any instruction, nor even
any little dietetic prescription, as to how one is to accom-
plish this enormous task. "But did not Descartes proceed
in this fashion?" Descartes, indeed! that venerable, hum-
ble, honest thinker whose writings surely no one can read
without deep emotion — Descartes did what he said, and said
what he did. Alas, alas ! that is a mighty rare thing in our
times ! But Descartes, as he says frequently enough, never
uttered doubts concerning his faith. . . .

In our times, as was remarked, no one is content with
faith, but "goes right on." The question as to whither
they are proceeding may be a silly question; whereas it is
a sign of urbanity and culture to assume that every one has
faith, to begin with, for else it were a curious statement
for them to make, that they are proceeding further. I.i the
olden days it was different. Then, faith was a task for a

120 University of Texas Bulletin

whole life-time because it was held that proficiency in faith
was not to be won within a few days or weeks. Hence,
when the tried patriarch felt his end approaching, after
having fought his battles and preserved his faith, he was
still young enough at heart not to have forgotten the fear
and trembling which disciplined his youth and which the
mature man has under control, but which no one entirely
outgrows — except insofar as he succeeds in "going on" as
early as possible. The goal which those venerable men
reached at last — at that spot every one starts, in our times,
in order to "proceed further." . . .

PREPARATION

There lived a man who, when a child, had heard the beau-
tiful Bible story of how God tempted Abraham and how he
stood the test, how he maintained his faith and, against his
expectations, received his son back again. As this man
grew older he read this same story with ever greater ad-
miration ; for now life had separated what had been united
in the reverent simplicity of the child. And the older he
grew, the more frequently his thoughts reverted to that
story. His enthusiasm waxed stronger and stronger, and
yet the story grew less and less clear to him. Finally he
forgot everything else in thinking about it, and his soul
contained but one wish, which was, to behold Abraham:
and but one longing, which was, to have been witness to
that event. His desire was, not to see the beautiful lands
of the Orient, and not the splendor of the Promised Land,
and not the reverent couple whose old age the Lord had
blessed with children, and not the venerable figure of the
aged patriarch, and not the god-given vigorous youth of
Isaac — it would have been the same to him if the event

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 121

had come to pass on some barren heath. But his wish was,
to have been with Abraham on the three days' journey,
when he rode with sorrow before him and with Isaac at his
side. His wish was, to have been present at the moment
when Abraham lifted up his eyes and saw Mount Moriah
afar off; to have been present at the moment when he left
his asses behind and wended his way up to the mountain
alone with Isaac. For the mind of this man was busy, not
with the delicate conceits of the imagination, but rather
with his shuddering thought.

The man we speak of was no thinker, he felt no desire
to go beyond his faith : it seemed to him the most glorious
fate to be remembered as the Father of Faith, and a most
enviable lot to be possessed of that faith, even if no one
knew it.

The man we speak of was no learned exegetist, he did not
even understand Hebrew — who knows but a knowledge of
Hebrew might have helped him to understand readily both
the story and Abraham.

I.

And God tempted Abraham and said unto him: take
Isaac, thine only son, whom thou lovest and go to the land
Moriah and sacrifice him there on a mountain which I shall
show thee.^

It was in the early morning, Abraham arose betimes and
had his asses saddled. He departed from his tent, and
Isaac with him ; but Sarah looked out of the window after
them until they were out of sight. Silently they rode for
three days ; but on the fourth morning Abraham said not a
word but lifted up his eyes and beheld Mount Moriah in the
distance. He left his servants behind and, leading Isaac
by the hand, he approached the mountain. But Abraham
said to himself: "I shall surely conceal from Isaac whither
he is going." He stood still, he laid his hand on Isaac's
head to bless him, and Isaac bowed down to receive his
blessing. And Abraham's aspect was fatherly, his glance

'Freely after Genesis 22.

122 University of Texas Bulletin

was mild, his speech admonishing. But Isaac understood
him not, his soul would not rise to him ; he embraced Abra-
ham's knees, he besought him at his feet, he begged for his
young life, for his beautiful hopes, he recalled the joy in
Abraham's house when he was born, he reminded him of the
sorrow and the loneliness that would be after him. Then
did Abraham raise up the youth and lead him by his hand,
and his words were full of consolation and admonishment.
But Isaac understood him not. He ascended Mount Moriah,
but Isaac understood him not. Then Abraham averted his
face for a moment; but when Isaac looked again, his
father's countenance was changed, his glance wild, his
aspect terrible, he seized Isaac and threw him to the ground
and said: "Thou foolish lad, believest thou I am thy father?
An idol-worshipper am I. Believest thou it is God's com-
mand? Nay, but my pleasure." Then Isaac trembled and
cried out in his fear : "God in heaven, have pity on me, God
of Abraham, show mercy to me, I have no father on earth,
be thou then my father!" But Abraham said softly to
himself : "Father in heaven, I thank thee. Better is it that
he believes me inhuman than that he should lose his faith
in thee."

When the child is to be weaned, his mother blackens
her breast ; for it were a pity if her breast should look sweet
to him when he is not to have it. Then the child believes
that her breast has changed ; but his mother is ever the
same, her glance is full of love and as tender as ever.
Happy he who needed not worse means to wean his child !

II.

It was in the early morning. Abraham arose betimes
and embraced Sarah, the bride of his old age. And Sarah

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 123

kissed Isaac who had taken the shame from her — Isaac,
her pride, her hope for all coming generations. Then the
twain rode silently along their way, and Abraham's glance
was fastened on the ground before him ; until on the fourth
day, when he lifted up his eyes and beheld Mount Moriah
in the distance ; but then his eyes again sought the ground.
Without a word he put the fagots in order and bound Isaac,
and without a word he unsheathed his knife. Then he be-
held the ram God had chosen, and sacrificed him, and
wended his way home. . . . From that day on Abraham grew
old. He could not forget that God had required this of
him. Isaac flourished as before; but Abraham's eye was
darkened, he saw happiness no more.

When the child has grown and is to be weaned, his mother
will in maidenly fashion conceal her breast. Then the child
has a mother no longer. Happy the child who lost not his
mother in any other sense !

III.

It was in the early morning. Abraham arose betimes;
he kissed Sarah, the young mother, and Sarah kissed IsaaC;
her joy, her delight for all times. And Abraham rode on
his way, lost in thought — he was thinking of Hagar and her
son whom he had driven out into the wilderness. He as-
cended Mount Moriah and he drew the knife.

It was a calm evening when Abraham rode out alone,
and he rode to Mount Moriah. There he cast himself down
on his face and prayed to God to forgive him his sin in
that he had been about to sacrifice his son Isaac, and in
that the father had forgotten his duty toward his son. And
yet oftener he rode on his lonely way, but he found no rest.

124 University of Texas Bulletin

He could not grasp that it was a sin that he had wanted to
sacrifice to God his most precious possession, him for whom
he would most gladly have died many times. But, if it was
a sin, if he had not loved Isaac thus, then could he not grasp
the possibility that he could be forgiven : for what sin more
terrible?

When the child is to be weaned, the mother is not with-
out sorrow that she and her child are to be separated more
and more, that the child who had first lain under her heart,
and afterwards at any rate rested at her breast, is to be
so near to her no more. So they sorrow together for that
brief while. Happy he who kept his child so near to him
and needed not to sorrow more !

IV.

It was in the early morning. All was ready for the
journey in the house of Abraham. He bade farewell to
Sarah; and Eliezer, his faithful servant, accompanied him
along the way for a little while. They rode together in
peace, Abraham and Isaac, until they came to Mount Moriah.
And Abraham prepared everything for the sacrifice, calmly
and mildly ; but when his father turned aside in order to
unsheath his knife, Isaac saw that Abraham's left hand was
knit in despair and that a trembling shook his frame — but
Abraham drew forth the knife.

Then they returned home again, and Sarah hastened to
meet them ; but Isaac had lost his faith. No one in all the
world ever said a word about this, nor did Isaac speak to
any man concerning what he had seen, and Abraham sus-
pected not that any one had seen it.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 125

When the child is to be weaned, his mother has the
stronger food ready lest the child perish. Happy he who
has in readiness this stronger food !

Thus, and in many similar ways, thought the man whom
I have mentioned about this event. And every time he
returned, after a pilgrimage to Mount Moriah, he sank down
in weariness, folding his hands and saying: "No one, in
truth, was great as was Abraham, and who can understand
him?"

A PANEGYRIC ON ABRAHAM

If a consciousness of the eternal were not implanted in
man; if the basis of all that exists were but a confusedly
fermenting element which, convulsed by obscure passions,
produced all, both the great and the insignificant; if under
everything there lay a bottomless void never to be filled —
what else were life but despair? If it were thus, and if
there were no sacred bonds between man and man ; if one
generation arose after another, as in the forest the leaves
of one season succeed the leaves of another, or like the songs
of birds which are taken up one after another ; if the genera-
tions of man passed through the world like a ship passing

126 University of Texas Bulletin

through the sea and the wind over the desert — a fruitless
and a vain thing; if eternal oblivion were ever greedily
watching for its prey and there existed no power strong
enough to wrest it from its clutches — how empty were life
then, and how dismal! And therefore it is not thus; but,
just as God created man and woman, he likewise called into
being the hero and the poet or orator. The latter cannot
perform the deeds of the hero — he can only admire and love
him and rejoice in him. And yet he also is happy and not
less so ; for the hero is, as it were, his better self with which
he has fallen in love, and he is glad he is not himself the
hero, so that his love can express itself in admiration.

The poet is the genius of memory, and does nothing but
recall what has been done, can do nothing but admire what
has been done. He adds nothing of his own, but he is jeal-
ous of what has been entrusted to him. He obeys the choice
of his own heart; but once he has found what he has been
seeking, he visits every man's door with his song and with
his speech, so that all may admire the hero as he does, and
be proud of the hero as he is. This is his achievement, his
humble work, this is his faithful service in the house of the
hero. If thus, faithful to his love, he battles day and night
against the guile of oblivion which wishes to lure the hero
from him, then has he accomplished his task, then is he
gathered to his hero who loves him as faithfully; for the
poet is at it were the hero's better self, unsubstantial, to be
sure, like a mere memory, but also transfigured as is a
memory. Therefore shall no one be forgotten who has done
great deeds ; and even if there be delay, even if the cloud of
misunderstanding obscure the hero from our vision, still
his lover will come some time ; and the more time has passed,
the more faithfully will he cleave to him.

No, no one shall be forgotten who was great in this world.
But each hero was great in his own way, and each one was
eminent in proportion to the great things he loved.
For he who loved himself became great through himself,
and he who loved others became great through his devotion,
but he who loved God became greater than all of these.
Everyone of them shall be remembered, but each one became

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 127

great in proportion to his trust. One became great by
hoping for the possible ; another, by hoping for the eternal ;
but he who hoped for the impossible, he became greater than
all of these. Every one shall be remembered ; but each one
was great in proportion to the power with which he strove.
For he who strove with the world became great by over-
coming himself ; but he who strove with God, he became the
greatest of them all. Thus there have been struggles in
the world, man against man, one against a thousand; but
he who struggled with God, he became greatest of them all.
Thus there was fighting on this earth, and there was he who
conquered everything by his strength, and there was he who
conquered God by his weakness. There was he who, trust-
ing in himself, gained all; and there was he who, trusting
in his strength sacrificed everything ; but he who believed in
God was greater than all of these. There was he* who was
great through his strength, and he who was great through
his wisdom, and he who was great through his hopes, and he
who was great through his love ; but Abraham was greater
than all of these — great through the strength whose power
is weakness, great through the wisdom whose secret is folly,
great through the hope whose expression is madness, great
through the love which is hatred of one's self.

Through the urging of his faith Abraham left the land
of his forefathers and became a stranger in the land of
promise. He left one thing behind and took one thing along :
he left his worldly wisdom behind and took with him faith.
For else he would not have left the land of his fathers, but
would have thought it an unreasonable demand. Through
his faith he came to be a stranger in the land of promise,
where there was nothing to remind him of all that had been
dear to him, but where everything by its newness tempted
his soul to longing. And yet was he God's chosen, he in
whom the Lord was well pleased ! Indeed, had he been one
cast off, one thrust out of God's mercy, then might he have
comprehended it ; but now it seemed like a mockery of him
and of his faith. There have been others who lived in exile
from the fatherland which they loved. They are not for-
gotten, nor is the song of lament forgotten in which they

128 University of Texas Bulletin

mournfully sought and found what they had lost. Of Abra-
ham there exists no song of lamentation. It is human to
complain, it is human to weep with the weeping; but it is
greater to believe, and more blessed to consider him who
has faith.

Through his faith Abraham received the promise that in
his seed were to be blessed all races of mankind. Time
passed, there was still the possibility of it, and Abraham
had faith. Another man there was who also lived in hopes.
Time passed, the evening of his life was approaching;
neither was he paltry enough to have forgotten his hopes:
neither shall he be forgotten by us ! Then he sorrowed, and
his sorrow did not deceive him, as life had done, but gave
him all it could; for in the sweetness of sorrow he became
possessed of his disappointed hopes. It is human to sor-
row, it is human to sorrow with the sorrowing; but it is
greater to have faith, and more blessed to consider him who
has faith.

No song of lamentation has come down to us from Abra-
ham. He did not sadly count the days as time passed ; he
did not look at Sarah with suspicious eyes, whether she was
becoming old ; he did not stop the sun's course lest Sarah
should grow old and his hope with her; he did not lull her
with his songs of lamentation. Abraham grew old, and
Sarah became a laughing-stock to the people; and yet was
he God's chosen, and heir to the promise that in his seed
were to be blessed all races of mankind. Were it, then,
not better if he had not been God's chosen? For what is
it to be God's chosen? Is it to have denied to one in one's
youth all the wishes of youth in order to have them fulfilled
after great labor in old age ?

But Abraham had faith and steadfastly lived in hope.
Had Abraham been less firm in his trust, then would he
have given up that hope. He would have said to God :
"So it is, perchance, not Thy will, after all, that this shall
come to pass. I shall surrender my hope. It was my only
one, it was my bliss. I am sincere, I conceal no secret
grudge for that Thou didst deny it to me.'* He would not
have remained forgotten, his example would have saved

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 129

many a one; but he would not have become the Father of
Faith. For it is great to surrender one's hope, but greater
still to abide by it steadfastly after having surrendered it ;
for it is great to seize hold of the eternal hope, but greater
still to abide steadfastly by one's worldly hopes after having
surrendered them.

Then came the fulness of time. If Abraham had not had
faith, then Sarah would probably have died of sorrow, and
Abraham, dulled by his grief, would not have understood
the fulfilment, but would have smiled about it as a dream of
his youth. But Abraham had faith, and therefore he re-
mained young; for he who always hopes for the best, him
life will deceive, and he will grow old ; and he who is always
prepared for the worst, he will soon age; but he who has
faith, he will preserve eternal youth. Praise, therefore, be
to this story! For Sarah, though advanced in age, was
young enough to wish for the pleasures of a mother, and
Abraham, though grey of hair, was young enough to wish
to become a father. In a superficial sense it may be con-
sidered miraculous that what they wished for came to pass,
but in a deeper sense the miracle of faith is to be seen in
Abraham's and Sarah's being young enough to wish, and
their faith having preserved their wish and therewith their
youth. The promise he had received was fulfilled, and he
accepted it in faith, and it came to pass according to the
promise and his faith ; whereas Moses smote the rock with
his staff but believed not.

There was joy in Abraham's house when Sarah celebrated
the day of her Golden Wedding.

But it was not to remain thus ; for once more was Abra-
ham to be tempted. He had struggled with that cunning
power to which nothing is impossible, with that ever watch-
ful enemy who never sleeps, with that old man who outlives
all — he had struggled with Time and had preserved his
faith. And now all the terror of that fight was concentrated
in one moment. "And God tempted Abraham, saying to
him : take now thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and
get thee into the land of Moriah ; and offer him there for a

130 University of Texas Bulletin

burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell
thee of."2

All was lost, then, and more terribly than if a son had
never been given him! The Lord had only mocked Abra-
ham, then ! Miraculously he had realized the unreasonable
hopes of Abraham; and now he wished to take away what
he had given, A foolish hope it had been, but Abraham
had not laughed when the promise had been made him. Now
all was lost — the trusting hope of seventy years, the brief
joy at the fulfilment of his hopes. Who, then, is he that
snatches away the old man's staff, who that demands that
he himself shall break it in two? Who is he that renders
disconsolate the grey hair of old age, who is he that demands
that he himself shall do it? Is there no pity for the ven-
erable old man, and none for the innocent child? And yet
was Abraham God's chosen one, and yet was it the Lord
that tempted him. And now all was to be lost! The glo-
rious remembrance of him by a whole race, the promise of
Abraham's seed — all that was but a whim, a passing fancy
of the Lord, which Abraham was now to destroy forever!
That glorious treasure, as old as the faith in Abraham's
heart, and many, many years older than Isaac, the fruit of
Abraham's life, sanctified by prayers, matured in struggles
— the blessing on the lips of Abraham : this fruit was now
to be plucked before the appointed time, and to remain with-
out significance; for of what significance were it if Isaac
was to be sacrificed? That sad and yet blessed hour when
Abraham was to take leave from all that was dear to him,
the hour when he would once more lift up his venerable
head, when his face would shine like the countenance of the
Lord, the hour when he would collect his whole soul for a
blessing strong enough to render Isaac blessed all the days
of his life — ^that hour was not to come! He was to say
farewell to Isaac, to be sure, but in such wise that he him-
self was to remain behind ; death was to part them, but in
such wise that Isaac was to die. The old man was not in
happiness to lay his hand on Isaac's head when the hour

-'Genesis 20, 11 f.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 131

of death came, but, tired of life, to lay violent hands on
Isaac. And it was God who tempted him. Woe, woe to the
messenger who would have come before Abraham with such
a command ! Who would have dared to be the messenger of
such dread tidin'gs? But it was God that tempted Abraham.

But Abraham had faith, and had faith for this life. In-
deed, had his faith been but concerning the life to come, then
might he more easily have cast away all, in order to hasten
out of this world which was not his. . . .

But Abraham had faith and doubted not, but trusted
that the improbable would come to pass. If Abraham had
doubted, then would he have undertaken something else,
something great and noble; for what could Abraham have
undertaken but was great and noble ! He would have pro-
ceeded to Mount Moriah, he would have cloven the wood,
and fired it, and unsheathed his knife — he would have cried
out to God : "Despise not this sacrifice ; it is not, indeed, the
best I have ; for what is an old man against a child foretold
of God ; but it is the best I can give thee. Let Isaac never
know that he must find consolation in his youth." He would
have plunged the steel in his own breast. And he would
have been admired throughout the world, and his name
would not have been forgotten; but it is one thing to be
admired and another, to be a lode-star which guides one
troubled in mind.

But Abraham had faith. He prayed not for mercy and
that he might prevail upon the Lord : it was only when just
retribution was to be visited upon Sodom and Gomorrha
that Abraham ventured to beseech Him for mercy.

We read in Scripture: "And God did tempt Abraham,
and said unto him, Abraham: and he said. Behold here I
am."^ You, whom I am now addressing did you do like-
wise? When you saw the dire dispensations of Providence
approach threateningly, did you not then say to the moun-
tains, Fall on me; and to the hills, Cover me?* Or, if you
were stronger in faith, did not your step linger along the
way, longing for the old accustomed paths, as it were? And

^Genesis 22, 1.
^Luke 23, 30.

132 University of Texas Bulletin

when the voice called you, did you answer, then, or not at
all, and if you did, perchance in a low voice, or whispering?
Not thus Abraham, but gladly and cheerfully and trust-
ingly, and with a resonant voice he made answer: "Here
am I." And we read further : "And Abraham rose up early
in the morning." ' He made haste as though for some joy-
ous occasion, and early in the morning he was in the ap-
pointed place, on Mount Moriah. He said nothing to Sarah,
nothing to Eliezer, his steward ; for who would have under-
stood him? Did not his temptation by its very nature de-
mand of him the vow of silence? "He laid the wood in
order, and bound Isaac his son, and laid him on the altar
upon the wood. And Abraham stretched forth his hand,
and took the knife to slay his son."' My listener! Many
a father there has been who thought that with his child he
lost the dearest of all there was in the world for him ; yet
assuredly no child ever was in that sense a pledge of God as
was Isaac to Abraham. Many a father there has been who
lost his child ; but then it was God, the unchangeable and
inscrutable will of the Almighty and His hand which took
it. Not thus with Abraham. For him was reserved a more
severe trial, and Isaac's fate was put into Abraham's hand
together with the knife. And there he stood, the old man,
with his only hope! Yet did he not doubt, nor look anx-
iously to the left or right, nor challenge Heaven with his
prayers. He knew it was God the Almighty who now put
him to the test ; he knew it was the greatest sacrifice which
could be demanded of him ; but he knew also that no sacrifice
was too great which God demanded — and he drew forth his
knife.

Who strengthened Abraham's arm, who supported his
right arm that it drooped not powerless ? For he who con-
templates this scene is unnerved. Who strengthened Abra-
ham's soul so that his eyes grew not too dim to see either
Isaac or the ram? For he who contemplates this scene
will be struck with blindness. And yet, it is rare enough
that one is unnerved or is struck with blindness, and still
more rare that one narrates worthily what there did take

•Genesis 22, 3 and 9.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 133

place between father and son. To be sure, we know well
enough — it was but a trial!

If Abraham had doubted, when standing on Mount Mo-
riah ; if he had looked about him in perplexity ; if he had
accidentally discovered the ram before drawing his knife;
if God had permitted him to sacrifice it instead of Isaac —
then would he have returned home, and all would have been
as before, he would have had Sarah and would have kept
Isaac; and yet how different all would have been! For
then had his return been a flight, his salvation an accident,
his reward disgrace, his future, perchance, perdition. Then
would he have borne witness neither to his faith nor to
God's mercy, but would have witnessed only to the terror
of going to Mount Moriah. Then Abraham would not have
been forgotten, nor either Mount Moriah. It would be men-
tioned, then, not as is Mount Ararat on which the Ark
landed, but as a sign of terror, because it was there Abra-
ham doubted.

Venerable patriarch Abraham ! When you returned home
from Mount Moriah you required no encomiums to console
you for what you had lost ; for, indeed, you did win all and
still kept Isaac, as we all know. And the Lord did no more
take him from your side, but you sate gladly at table with
him in your tent as in the life to come you will, for all times.
Venerable patriarch Abraham! Thousands of years have
passed since those times, but still you need no late-born lover
to snatch your memory from the power of oblivion, for every
language remembers you — and yet do you reward your lover
more gloriously than any one, rendering him blessed in your
bosom, and taking heart and eyes captive by the marvel of
your deed. Venerable patriarch Abraham ! Second father
of the race! You who first perceived and bore witness to
that unbounded passion which has but scorn for the terrible
fight with the raging elements and the strength of brute
creation, in order to struggle with God; you who first felt
that sublimest of all passions, you who found the holy, pure,
humble expression for the divine madness which was a
marvel to the heathen — forgive him who would speak in
your praise, in case he did it not fittingly. He spoke humbly.

134 University of Texas Bulletin

as if it concerned the desire of his heart; he spoke briefly,
as is seemly; but he will never forget that you required a
hundred years to obtain a son of your old age, against all
expections; that you had to draw the knife before being
permitted to keep Isaac ; he will never forget that in a hun-
dred and thirty years you never got farther than to faith.

PRELIMINARY EXPECTORATION

An old saying, derived from the world of experience, has
it that "he who will not work shall not eat."" But, strange
to say, this does not hold true in the world where it is
thought applicable; for in the world of matter the law of
imperfection prevails, and we see, again and again, that he
also who will not work has bread to eat — indeed, that he who
sleeps has a greater abundance of it than he who works.
In the world of matter everything belongs to whosoever
happens to possess it ; it is thrall to the law of indifference,
and he who happens to possess the Ring also has the Spirit
of the Ring at his beck and call, whether now he be Noured-
din or Aladdin," and he who controls the treasures of this

«Cf. Thessalonians 3, 10.

^In Aladdin, Oehlenschlager's famous dramatic poem, Aladdin, "the
cheerful son of nature," is contrasted with Noureddin, representing
the gloom of doubt and night.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 135

world, controls them, howsoever he managed to do so. It
is different in the world of spirit. There, an eternal and
divine order obtains, there the rain does not fall on the just
and the unjust alike, nor does the sun shine on the good and
the evil alike ;^ but there the saying does hold true that he
who will not work shall not eat, and only he who was troubled
shall find rest, and only he who descends into the nether
world shall rescue his beloved, and only he who unsheathes
his knife shall be given Isaac again. There, he who will
not work shall not eat, but shall be deceived, as the gods
deceived Orpheus with an immaterial figure instead of his
beloved Euridice,'' deceived him because he was love-sick
and not courageous, deceived him because he was a player
on the cithara rather than a man. There, it avails not to
have an Abraham for one's father,^" or to have se\^enteen
ancestors. But in that world the saying about Israel's mai-
dens will hold true of him who will not work : he shall bring
forth wind ;" but he who will work shall give birth to his
own father.

There is a kind of learning which would presumptuously
introduce into the world of spirit the same law of indiffer-
ence under which the world of matter groans. It is thought
that to know about great men and great deeds is quite suffi-
cient, and that other exertion is not necessary. And there-
fore this learning shall not eat, but shall perish of hunger
while seeing all things transformed into gold by its touch.
And what, forsooth, does this learning really know? There
were many thousands of contemporaries, and countless men
in after times, who knew all about the triumphs of Miltiades ;
but there was only one w^hom they rendered sleepless.^^
There have existed countless generations that knew by heart,
word for word, the story of Abraham; but how many has
it rendered sleepless?

Now the story of Abraham has the remarkable property

^Matthew 5, 45.

^Cf . not the legend but Plato's Symposion.

lOMatthew 3, 9.

iilsaiah 26, 18.

i^Themistocles, that is; see Plutarch, Lives.

136 University of Texas Bulletin

of always being glorious, in however limited a sense it is
understood ; still, here also the point is whether one means
to labor and exert one's helf . Now people do not care to
labor and exert themselves, but wish nevertheless to under-
stand the story. They extol Abraham, but how? By ex-
pressing the matter in the most general terms and saying :
"the great thing about him was that he loved God so ardently
that he was willing to sacrifice to Him his most precious
possession." That is very true; but "the most precious
possession" is an indefinite expression. As one's thoughts,
and one's mouth, run on one assumes, in a very easy fashion,
the identity of Isaac and "the most precious possession" —
and meanwhile he who is meditating may smoke his pipe,
and his audience comfortably stretch out their legs. If the
rich youth whom Christ met on his way'' had sold all his
possessions and given all to the poor, we would extol him
as we extol all which is great — aye, would not understand
even him without labor ; and yet would he never have become
an Abraham, notwithstanding his sacrificing the most pre-
cious possessions he had. That which people generally for-
get in the story of Abraham is his fear and anxiety ; for as
regards money, one is not ethically responsible for it, where-
as for his son a father has the highest and most sacred re-
sponsibility. However, fear is a dreadful thing for timo-
rous spirits, so they omit it. And yet they wish to speak
of Abraham.

So they keep on speaking, and in the course of their
speech the two terms Isaac and "the most precious thing"
are used alternately, and everything is in the best order.
But now suppose that among the audience there was a man
who suffered with sleeplessness — and then the most terrible
and profound, the most tragic, and at the same time the
most comic, misunderstanding is within the range of pos-
sibility. That is, suppose this man goes home and wishes
to do as did Abraham ; for his son is his most precious pos-
session. If a certain preacher learned of this he would,
perhaps, go to him, he would gather up all his spiritual dig-
nity and exclaim: "Thou abominable creature, thou scum

i^Matthew 19, 16f.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 137

of humanity, what devil possessed thee to wish to murder
thy son?" And this preacher, who had not felt any par-
ticular warmth, nor perspired while speaking about Abra-
ham, this preacher would be astonished himself at the earn-
est wrath with which he poured forth his thunders against
that poor wretch ; indeed, he would rejoice over himself, for
never had he spoken with such power and unction, and he
would have said to his wife : "I am an orator, the only thing
I have lacked so far was the occasion. Last Sunday, when
speaking about Abraham, I did not feel thrilled in the least."
Now, if this same orator had just a bit of sense to spare,
I believe he would lose it if the sinner would reply, m a quiet
and dignified manner : "Why, it was on this very same mat-
ter you preached, last Sunday!" But however could the
preacher have entertained such thoughts? Still, such was
the case, and the preacher's mistake was merely not know-
ing what he was talking about. Ah, would that some poet
might see his way clear to prefer such a situation to tho
stuff and nonsense of which novels and comedies are full!
For the comic and the tragic here run parallel to infinity.
The sermon probably was ridiculous enough in itself, but it
became infinitely ridiculous through the very natural conse-
quence it had. Or, suppose now the sinner was converted
by this lecture without daring to raise any objection, and
this zealous divine now went home elated, glad in the con-
sciousness of being effective, not only in the pulpit, but
chiefly, and with irresistible power, as a spiritual guide,
inspiring his congregation on Sunday, whilst on Monday he
would place himself like a cherub with flaming sword before
the man who by his actions tried to give the lie to the old
saying that "the course of the world follows not the priest's
word."

If, on the other hand, the sinner were not convinced of
his error his position would become tragic. He would prob-
ably be executed, or else sent to the lunatic asylum — at any
rate, he would become a sufferer in this world; but in an-
other sense I should think that Abraham rendered him
happy ; for he who labors, he shall not perish.

138 University of Texas Bulletin

Now how shall we explain the contradiction contained in
that sermon ? Is it due to Abraham's having the reputation
of being a great man — so that whatever he does is great,
but if another should undertake to do the same it is a sin,
a heinous sin ? If this be the case I prefer not to participate
in such thoughtless laudations. If faith cannot make it a
sacred thing to wish to sacrifice one's son, then let the same
judgment be visited on Abraham as on any other man. And
if we perchance lack the courage to drive our thoughts to
the logical conclusion and to say that Abraham was a mur-
derer, then it were better to acquire that courage, rather
than to waste one's time on undeserved encomiums. The
fact is, the ethical expression for what Abraham did is that
he wanted to murder Isaac ; the religious, that he wanted to
sacrifice him. But precisely in this contradiction is con-
tained the fear which may well rob one of one's sleep. And
yet Abraham were not Abraham without this fear. Or,
again, supposing Abraham did not do what is attributed to
him, if his action was an entirely different one, based on
conditions of those times, then let us forget him ; for what
is the use of calling to mind that past which can no longer
become a present reality? — Or, the speaker had perhaps for-
gotten the essential fact that Isaac was the son. For if
faith is eliminated, having been reduced to a mere nothing,
then only the brutal fact remains that Abraham wanted to
murder Isaac — which is easy for everybody to imitate who
has not the faith — the faith, that is, which renders it most
difficult for him. . . .

Love has its priests in the poets, and one hears at times
a poet's voice which worthily extols it. But not a word does
one hear of faith. Who is there to speak in honor of that
passion? Philosophy "goes right on." Theology sits at
the window with a painted visage and sues for philosophy's
favor, offering it her charms. It is said to be difficult to
understand the philosophy of Hegel; but to understand
Abraham, why, that is an easy matter ! To proceed further
than Hegel is a wonderful feat, but to proceed further than

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 139

Abraham, why, nothing is easier! Personally, I have de-
voted a considerable amount of time to a study of Hegelian
philosophy and believe I understand it fairly well ; in fact,
I am rash enough to say that when, notwithstanding an
effort, I am not able to understand him in some passages,
it is because he is not entirely clear about the matter him-
self. All this intellectual effort I perform easily and nat-
urally, and it does not cause my head to ache. On the other
hand, whenever I attempt to think about Abraham I am,
as it were, overwhelmed. At every moment I am aware of
the enormous paradox which forms the content of Abra-
ham's life, at every moment I am repulsed, and my thought,
notwithstanding its passionate attempts, cannot penetrate
into it, cannot forge on the breadth of a hair. I strain every
muscle in order to envisage the problem — and become a
paralytic in the same moment.

I am by no means unacquainted with what has been ad-
mired as great and noble, my soul feels kinship with it,
being satisfied, in all humility, that it was also my cause
the hero espoused; and when contemplating his deed I say
to myself: "jam tua causa agitur."^* I am able to
identify myself with the hero ; but I cannot do so with
Abraham, for whenever I have reached his height I fall
down again, since he confronts me as the paradox. It is
by no means my intention to maintain that faith is some-
thing inferior, but, on the contrary, that it is the highest
of all things ; also that it is dishonest in philosophy to offer
something else instead, and to pour scorn on faith; but it
ought to understand its own nature in order to know what
it can offer. It should take away nothing; least of all, fool
people out of something as if it were of no value. I am
not unacquainted with the sufferings and dangers of life,
but I do not fear them, and cheerfully go forth to meet
them. . . . But my courage is not, for all that, the courage
of faith, and is as nothing compared with it. I cannot
carry out the movement of faith : I cannot close my eyes
and confidently plunge into the absurd — it is impossible for
me ; but neither do I boast of it. . . .

^*Your cause, too, is at stake.

140 University of Texas Bulletin

Now I wonder if every one of my contemporaries is really
able to perform the movements of faith. Unless I am much
mistaken they are, rather, inclined to be proud of making
what they perhaps think me unable to do, viz., the imper-
fect movement. It is repugnant to my soul to do what is
so often done, to speak inhumanly about great deeds, as if
a few thousands of years were an immense space of time.
I prefer to speak about them in a human way and as though
they had been done but yesterday, to let the great deed itself
be the distance which either inspires or condemns me. Now
if I, in the capacity oftragicher o — for a higher flight
I am unable to take — if I had been summoned to such an
extraordinary royal progress as was the one to Mount Mo-
riah, I know very well what I would have done. I would
not have been craven enough to remain at home; neither
would I have dawdled on the way ; nor would I have forgot
my knife — ^just to draw out the end a bit. But I am rather
sure that I would have been promptly on the spot, with every
thing in order — in fact, would probably have been there
before the appointed time, so as to have the business soon
over with. But I know also what I would have done be-
sides. In the moment I mounted my horse I would have
said to myself : "Now all is lost, God demands Isaac, I shall
sacrific him, and with him all my joy — but for all that, God
is love and will remain so for me ; for in this world God and
I cannot speak together, we have no language in common."

Possibly, one or the other of my contemporaries will be
stupid enough, and jealous enough of great deeds, to wish
to persuade himself and me that if I had acted thus I should
have done something even greater than what Abraham did ;
for my sublime resignation was (he thinks) by far more
ideal and poetic than Abraham's literal-minded action. And
yet this is absolutely not so, for my sublime resignation was
only a substitute for faith. I could not have made more
than the infinite movement (of resignation) to find myself
and again repose in myself. Nor would I have loved Isaac
as Abraham loved him. The fact that I was resolute enough
to resign is sufficient to prove my courage in a human sense,
and the fact that I loved him with my whole heart is the

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 141

very presupposition without which my action would be a
crime; but still I did not love as did Abraham, for else I
would have hesitated even in the last minute, without, for
that matter, arriving too late on Mount Moriah. Also, I
would have spoiled the whole business by my behavior ; for
if I had had Isaac restored to me I would have been em-
barrassed. That which was an easy matter for Abraham
would have been difficult for me, I mean, to rejoice again
in Isaac ; for he who with all the energy of his soul propj'io
motu et propriis auspiciis^'' has made the infinite movement
of resignation and can do no more, he will retain possession
of Isaac only in his sorrow.

But what did Abraham? He arrived neither too early
nor too late. He mounted his ass and rode slowly on his
way. And all the while he had faith, believing that God
would not demand Isaac of him, though ready all the while
to sacrifice him, should it be demanded of him. He believed
this on the strength of the absurd ; for there was no ques-
tion of human calculation any longer. And the absurdity
consisted in God's, who yet made this demand of him, re-
calling his demand the very next moment. Abraham as-
cended the mountain and whilst the knife already gleamed
in his hand he believed — that God would not demand Isaac
of him. He was, to be sure, surprised at the outcome; but
by a double movement he had returned at his first state of
mind and therefore received Isaac back more gladly than
the first time. . . .

On this height, then, stands Abraham. The last stage
he loses sight of is that of infinite resignation. He does
really proceed further, he arrives at faith. For all these
caricatures of faith, wretched lukewarm sloth, which thinks :
"Oh, there is no hurry, it is not necessary to worry before
the time comes" ; and miserable hopefulness, which says :
"One cannot know what will happen, there might per-
haps— ," all these caricatures belong to the sordid view of
life and have already fallen under the infinite scorn of in-
finite resignation.

By his own impulse and on his own responsibility.

142 University of Texas Bulletin

Abraham, I am not able to understand; and in a certain
sense I can learn nothing from him without being struck
with wonder. They who flatter themselves that by merely
considering the outcome of Abraham's story they will nec-
essarily arrive at fajth, only deceive themselves and wish to
cheat God out of the first movement of faith — it were tanta-
mount to deriving worldly wisdom from the paradox. But
who knows, one or the other of them may succeed in doing
this ; for our times are not satisfied with faith, and not even
with the miracle of changing water into wine — they "go
right on" changing wine into water.

Is it not preferable to remain satisfied with faith, and is
it not outrageous that every one wishes to "go right on"?
If people in our times decline to be satisfied with love, as is
proclaimed from various sides, where will we finally land?
In worldly shrewdness, in mean calculation, in paltriness
and baseness, in all that which renders man's divine origin
doubtful. Were it not better to stand fast in the faith, and
better that he that standeth take heed lest he fall ;^'' for the
movement of faith must ever be made by virtue of the ab-
surd, but, note well, in such wise that one does not lose the
things of this world but wholly and entirely regains them.

As far as I am concerned, I am able to describe most ex-
cellently the movements of faith; but I cannot make them
myself. When a person wishes to learn how to swim he
has himself suspended in a swimming-belt and then goes
through the motions; but that does not mean that he can
swim. In the same fashion I too can go through the mo-
tions of faith; but when I am thrown into the water I
swim; to be sure (for I am not a wader in the shallows),
but I go through a different set of movements, to-wit, those
of infinity; whereas faith does the opposite, to-wit, makes
the movements to regain the finite after having made those
of infinite resignation. Blessed is he who can make these
movements, for he performs a marvellous feat, and I shall
never weary of admiring him, whether now it be Abraham
himself or the slave in Abraham's house, whether it be a

'"Cf. I Cor. 10, 12.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 143

professor of philosophy or a poor servant-girl : it is all the
same to me, for I have regard only to the movements. But
these movements I watch closely, and I will not be deceived,
whether by myself or by any one else. The knights of
infinite resignation are easily recognized, for their gait is
dancing and bold. But they who possess the jewel of faith
frequently deceive one because their bearing is curiously
like that of a class of people heartily despised by infinite
resignation as well as by faith — the philistines.

Let me admit frankly that I have not in my experience
encountered any certain specimen of this type ; but I do not
refuse to admit that as far as I know, every other person
may be such a specimen. At the same time I will say that
I have searched vainly for years. It is the custom of scien-
tists to travel around the globe to see rivers and mountains,
new stars, gay-colored birds, misshapen fish, ridiculous
races of men. They abandon themselves to a bovine stupor
which gapes at existence and believe they have seen some-
thing worth while. All this does not interest me ; but if I
knew where there lived such a knight of faith I would jour-
ney to him on foot, for that marvel occupies my thoughts
exclusively. Not a moment would I leave him out of sight,
but would watch how he makes the movements, and I would
consider myself provided for life, and would divide my time
between watching him and myself practicing the move-
ments, and would thus use all my time in admiring him.

As I said, I have not met with such a one; but I can
easily imagine him. Here he is. I make his acquaintance
and am introduced to him. The first moment I lay my eyes
en him I push him back, leaping back myself, I hold up my
hands in amazement and say to myself: "Good Lord! that
person? Is it really he — why, he looks like a parish-beadle!"
But it is really he. I become more closely acquainted with
him, watching his every movement to see whether some
trifling incongruous movement of his has escaped me, some
trace, perchance, of a signalling from the infinite, a glance,
a look, a gesture, a melancholy air, or a smile, which might
betray the presence of infinite resignation contrasting with
the finite.

144 University of Texas Bulletin

But no ! I examine his figure from top to toe to discover
whether there be anywhere a chink through which the in-
finite might be seen to peer forth. But no ! he is of a piece,
all through. And how about his footing? Vigorous, al-
together that of finiteness, no citizen dressed in his very
best, prepared to spend his Sunday afternoon in the park,
treads the ground more firmly. He belongs altogether to
this world, no philistine more so. There is no trace of the
somewhat exclusive and haughty demeanor which marks off
the knight of infinite resignation. He takes pleasure in all
things, is interested in everything, and perseveres in what-
ever he does with the zest characteristic of persons wholly
given to worldly things. He attends to his business, and
when one sees him one might think he was a clerk who had
lost his soul in doing double bookkeeping, he is so exact.
He takes a day oft" on Sundays. He goes to church. But no
hint of anything supernatural or any other sign of the in-
commensurable betrays him, and if one did not know him
it would be impossible to distinguish him in the congrega-
tion, for his brisk and manly singing proves only that he
has a pair of good lungs.

In the afternoon he walks out to the forest. He takes
delight in all he sees, in the crowds of men and women, the
new omnibusses, the Sound — if one met him on the prome-
nade one might think he was some shopkeeper who was
having a good time, so simple is his joy ; for he is not a poet,
and in vain have I tried to lure him into betraying some
sign of the poet's detachment. Toward evening he walks
home again, with a gait as steady as that of a mail-carrier.
On his way he happens to wonder whether his wife will have
some little special warm dish ready for him, when he comes
home — as she surely has — as, for instance, a roasted lamb's
head garnished with greens. And if he met one minded
like him he is very likely to continue talking about this dish
with him till they reach the East Gate, and to talk about it
v;ith a zest befitting a chef. As it happens, he has not four
shillings to spare, and yet he firmly believes that his wife
surely has that dish ready for him. If she has, it would be
an enviable sight for distinguished people, and an inspiring

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 145

one for common folks, to see him eat, for he has an appetite
greater than Esau's. His wife has not prepared it —
strange, he remains altogether the same.

Again, on his way he passes a building lot and there
meets another man. They fall to talking, and in a trice he
erects a building, freely disposing of everything necessary.
And the stranger will leave him with the impression that
he has been talking with a capitalist — the fact being that
the knight of my admiration is busy with the thought that if
it really came to the point he would unquestionably have the
means wherewithal at his disposal.

Now he is lying on his elbows in the window and looking
over the square on which he lives. All that happens there,
if it be only a rat creeping into a gutter-hole, or children
playing together — everything engages his attention, and
yet his mind is at rest as though it were the mind of a girl
of sixteen. He smokes his pipe in the evening, and to look
at him you would swear it was the green-grocer from across
the street who is lounging at the window in the evening twi-
light. Thus he shows as much unconcern as any worthless
happy-go-lucky fellow; and yet, every moment he lives he
purchases his leisure at the highest price, for he makes not
the least movement except by virtue of the absurd ; and yet,
yet — indeed, I might become furious with anger, if for no
other reason than that of en\^ — and yet, this man has per-
formed, and is performing every moment, the movement of
infinity . . . He has resigned everything absolutely, and then
again seized hold of it all on the strength of the absurd. . .

But this miracle may so easily deceive one that it will be
best if I describe the movements in a given case which may
illustrate their aspect in contact with reality; and that is
the important point. Suppose, then, a young swain falls in
love with a princess, and all his life is bound up in this love.
But circumstances are such that it is out of the question to
think of marrying her, an impossibility to translate his
dreams into reality. The slaves of paltriness, the frogs in
the sloughs of life, they will shout, of course : "Such a love
is folly, the rich brewer's widow is quite as good and solid
a match." Let them but croak. The knight of infinite

146 University of Texas Bulletin

resignation does not follow their advice, he does not sur-
render his love, not for all the riches in the world. He is
no fool, he first makes sure that this love really is the con-
tents of his life, for his soul is too sound and too proud to
waste itself on a mere intoxication. He is no coward, he is
not afraid to let his love insinuate itself into his most secret
and most remote thoughts, to let it wind itself in innumer-
able coils about every fiber of his consciousness — if he is
disappointed in his love he will never be able to extricate
himself again. He feels a delicious pleasure in letting love
thrill his every nerve, and yet his soul is solemn as is that
of him who has drained a cup of poison and who now feels
the virus mingle with every drop of his blood, poised in
that moment between life and death.

Having thus imbibed love, and being wholly absorbed in
it, he does not lack the courage to try and dare all. He
surveys the whole situation, he calls together his swift
thoughts which like tame pigeons obey his every beck, he
gives the signal, and they dart in all directions. But whien
they return, every one bearing a message of sorrow, and
explain to him that it is impossible, then he becomes silent,
he dismisses them, he remains alone ; and then he makes the
movement. Now if what I say here is to have any signifi-
cance, it is of prime importance that the movement be made
in a normal fashion. The knight of resignation is supposed
to have sufl^icient energy to concentrate the entire contents
of his life and the realization of existing conditions into
one single wish. But if one lacks this concentration, this
devotion to a single thought ; if his soul from the very be-
ginning is scattered on a number of objects, he will never
be able to make the movement — he will be as worldly-wise in
the conduct of his life as the financier who invests his cap-
ital in a number of securities to win on the one if he should
lose on the other ; that is, he is no knight. Furthermore, the
knight is supposed to possess sufficient energy to concen-
trate all his thought into a single act of consciousness. If
he lacks this concentration he will only run errands in life
and will never be able to assume the attitude of infinite
resignation; for the very minute he approaches it he will

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 147

suddenly discover that he forgot something so that he must
remain behind. The next minute, thinks he, it will be at-
tainable again, and so it is; but such inhibitions will never
allow him to make the movement but will, rather, tend to
let him sink ever deeper into the mire.

Our knight, then, performs the movement — which move-
ment? Is he intent on forgetting the whole affair, which,
too, would presuppose much concentration? No, for the
knight does not contradict himself, and it is a contradiction
to forget the main contents of one's life and still remain the
same person. And he has no desire to become another per-
son; neither does he consider such a desire to smack of
greatness. Only lower natures forget themselves and be-
come something different. Thus the butterfly has forgotten
that it once was a caterpillar — who knows but it may forget
altogether that it once was a butterfly, and turn into a fish !
Deeper natures never forget themselves and never change
their essential qualities. So the knight remembers all ; but
precisely this remembrance is painful. Nevertheless, in his
infinite resignation he has become reconciled with existence.
His love for the princess has become for him the expression
of an eternal love, has assumed a religious character, has
been transfigured into a love for the eternal being which,
to be sure, denied him the fulfilment of his love, yet recon-
ciled him again by presenting him with the abiding
consciousness of his love's being preserved in an everlasting
form of which no reality can rob him. . . .

Now, he is no longer interested in what the princess may
do, and precisely this proves that he has made the movement
of infinite resignation correctly. In fact, this is a good
criterion for detecting whether a person's movement is sin-
cere or just make-believe. Take a person who believes that
he too has resigned, but lo! time passed, the princess did
something on her part, for example, married a prince, and
then his soul lost the elasticity of its resignation. This
ought to show him that he did not make the movement cor-
rectly, for he who has resigned absolutely is sufficient unto
himself. The knight does not cancel his resignation, but
preserves his love as fresh and young as it was at the first

148 University of Texas Bulletin

moment, he never lets go of it just because his resignation
is absolute. Whatever the princess does, cannot disturb
him, for it is only the lower natures who have the law for
their actions in some other person, i.e. have the premises of
their actions outside of themselves. . . .

Infinite resignation is the last stage which goes before
faith, so that every one who has not made the movement of
infinite resignation cannot have faith ; for only through ab-
solute resignation do I become conscious of my eternal
worth, and only then can there arise the problem of again
grasping hold of this world by virtue of faith.

We will now suppose the knight of faith in the same
case. He does precisely as the other knight, he absolutely
resigns the love which is the contents of his life, he is recon-
ciled to the pain ; but then the miraculous happens, he makes
one more movement, strange beyond comparison, saying:
"And still I believe that I shall marry her — marry her by
virtue of the absurd, by virtue of the act that to God nothing
is impossible." Now the absurd is not one of the categories
which belong to the understanding proper. It is not iden-
tical with the improbable, the unforeseen, the unexpected.
The very moment our knight resigned himself he made sure
of the absolute impossibility, in any human sense, of his
love. This was the result reached by his reflections, and
he had sufficient energy to make them. In a transcendent
sense, however, by his very resignation, the attainment of
his end is not impossible ; but this very act of again taking
possession of his love is at the same time a relinquishment
of it. Nevertheless this kind of possession is by no means
an absurdity to the intellect; for the intellect all the while
continues to be right, as it is aware that in the world
of finalities, in which reason rules, his love was and is, an
impossibility. The knight of faith realizes this fully as
well. Hence the only thing which can save him is recourse
to the absurd, and this recourse he has through his faith.
That is, he clearly recognizes the impossibility, and in the
same moment he believes the absurd ; for if he imagined he
had faith, without at the same time recognizing, with all the
passion his soul is capable of, that his love is impossible,

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 149

he would be merely deceiving himself, and his testimony-
would be of no value, since he had not arrived even at the
stage of absolute resignation. . . .

This last movement, the paradoxical movement of faith,
I cannot make, whether or no it be my duty, although I
desire nothing more ardently than to be able to make it.
It must be left to a person's discretion whether he cares to
make this confession ; and at any rate, it is a matter between
him and the Eternal Being, who is the object of his faith,
whether an amicable adjustment can be affected. But what
every person can do is to make the movement of absolute
resignation, and I for my part would not hesitate to declare
him a coward who imagines he cannot perform it. It is a
different matter with faith. But what no person has a right
to, is to delude others into the belief that faith is something
of no great significance, or that it is an easy matter, whereas
it is the greatest and most difficult of all things.

But the story of Abraham is generally interpreted in a
different way. God's mercy is praised which restored Isaac
to him — it was but a trial I A trial. This word may mean
much or little, and yet the whole of it passes off as quickly
as the story is told : one mounts a winged horse, in the same
instant one arrives on Mount Moriah, and presto one sees
the ram. It is not remembered that Abraham only rode on
an ass which travels but slowly, that it was a three days'
journey for him, and that he required some additional time
to collect the firewood, to bind Isaac, and to whet his knife.

And yet one extols Abraham. He who is to preach the
sermon may sleep comfortably until a quarter of an hour
before he is to preach it, and the listener may comfortably
sleep during the sermon, for everything is made easy enough,
without much exertion either to preacher or listener. But
now suppose a man was present who suffered with sleep-
lessness and who went home and sat in a corner and re-
flected as follows : "The whole lasted but a minute, you need
only wait a little while, and then the ram will be shown and
the trial will be over." Now if the preacher should find
him in this frame of mind, I believe he would confront him
in all his dignity and say to him: "Wretch that thou art,

150 University of Texas Bulletin

to let thy soul lapse into such folly ; miracles do not happen,
all life is a trial." And as he proceeded he would grow
more and more passionate, and would become ever more
satisfied with himself; and whereas he had not noticed any
congestion in his head whilst preaching about Abraham, he
now feels the veins on his forehead swell. Yet who knows
but he would stand aghast if the sinner should answer him
in a quiet and dignified manner that it was precisely this
about which he preached the Sunday before.

Let us then either waive the whole story of Abraham,
or else learn to stand in awe of the enormous paradox which
constitutes his significance for us, so that we may learn to
understand that our age, like every age, may rejoice if it
has faith. If the story of Abraham is not a mere nothing,
an illusion, or if it is just used for show and as a pastime,
the mistake cannot by any means be in the sinner's wishing
to do likewise ; but it is necessary to find out how great was
the deed which Abraham performed, in order that the man
may judge for himself whether he has the courage and the
mission to do likewise. The comical contradiction in the
procedure of the preacher was his reduction of the story of
Abraham to insignificance whereas he rebuked the other
man for doing the very same thing.

But should we then cease to speak about Abraham? I
certainly think not. But if I were to speak about him I
would first of all describe the terrors of his trial. To that
end leechlike I would suck all the suffering and distress out
of the anguish of a father, in order to be able to describe
what Abraham suffered whilst yet preserving his faith. I
would remind the hearer that the journey lasted three days
and a goodly part of the fourth — in fact, these three and a
half days ought to become infinitely longer than the few
thousand years which separate me from Abraham. I would
remind him, as I think right, that every person is still per-
mitted to turn about before trying his strength on this
formidable task; in fact, that he may return every instant
in repentence. Provided this is done, I fear for nothing.
Nor do I fear to awaken great desire among people to at-
tempt to emulate Abraham. But to get out a cheap edition

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 151

of Abraham and yet forbid every one to do as he did, that
I call ridiculous."

' "The above, with the omissions indicated, constitutes about one-third
of "Fear and Trembling."

PREPARATION FOR A CHRISTIAN LIFE

"COME HITHER UNTO ME, ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE
HEAVY LADEN, AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST." (MATTHEW
11, 28.)

THE INVITATION

"Come hither!" — It is not at all strange if he who
is in danger and needs help — speedy, immediate help, per-
haps— it is not strange if he cries out : "come hither" !
Nor it is strange that a quack cries his wares : "come hither,
I cure all maladies" ; alas, for in the case of the quack it is
only too true that it is the physician who has need of the
sick. "Come hither all ye who at extortionate prices can
pay for the cure — or at any rate for the medicine ; here is
physic for everybody — who can pay; come hither!"

In all other cases, however, it is generally true that he
who can help must be sought; and, when found, may be
difficult of access; and, if access is had, his help may have
to be implored a long time ; and when his help has been im-
plored a long time, he may be moved only with difficulty,
that is, he sets a high price on his services ; and sometimes,
precisely when he refuses payment or generously asks for
none, it is only an expression of how infinitely high he
values his services. On the other hand, he- who sacrificed
himself, he sacrifices himself, here too ; it is indeed he who
seeks those in need of help, is himself the one who goes
about and calls, almost imploringly: "come hither!" He,
the only one who can help, and help with what alone is in-
dispensable, and can save from the one truly mortal disease.

'First Part; comprising about one-fourth of the whole book.

-I. e. Christ; cf. Introduction p. 41 for the use of small letters.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 153

he does not wait for people to come to him, but comes him-
self, without having been called ; for it is he who calls out
to them, it is he who holds out help — and what help! In-
deed, that simple sage of antiquity^ was as infinitely right
as the majority who do the opposite are wrong, in setting
no great price, whether on himself or his instruction ; even
if he thus in a certain sense proudly expressed the utter dif-
ference in kind between payment and his services. But he
was not so solicitous as to beg any one to come to him,
notwithstanding — or shall I say because? — he was not alto-
gether sure what his help signified; for the more sure one
is that his help is the only one obtainable, the more reason
has he, in a human sense, to ask a great price for it ; and the
less sure one is, the more reason has he to oflfer freely the
possible help he has, in order to do at least something for
others. But he who calls himself the Savior, and knows
that he is, he calls out solicitously : "come hither unto me I"

"Come hither all ye !" — Strange ! For if he who,
when it comes to the point, perhaps cannot help a single one
— if such a one should boastfully invite everybody, that
would not seem so very strange, man's nature being such
as it is. But if a man is absolutely sure of being able to
help, and at the same time willing to help, willing to devote
his all in doing so, and with all sacrifices, then he generally
makes at least one reservation ; which is, to make a choice
among those he means to help. That is, however willing
one may be, still it is not everybody one cares to help ; one
does not care to sacrifice one's self to that extent. But he,
the only one who can really help, and really help everybody
— the only one, therefore, who really can invite everybody —
he makes no conditions whatever ; but utters the invitation
which, from the beginning of the world, seems to have been
reserved for him: "Come hither all ye!" Ah, human self-
sacrifice, even when thou art most beautiful and noble,

^Socrates.

154 University of Texas Bulletin

when we admire thee most : this is a sacrifice still greater,
which is, to sacrifice every provision for one's own self, so
that in one's willingness to help there is not even the least
partiality. Ah, the love that sets no price on one's self,
that makes one forget altogether that he is the helper, and
makes one altogether blind as to who it is one helps, but
infinitely careful only that he be a sufferer, whatever else
he may be ; and thus willing unconditionally to help every-
body— different, alas! in this from everybody!

"Come hither unto me!" Strange ! For human com-
passion also, and willingly, does something for them that
labor and are heavy laden; one feeds the hungry, clothes
the naked, makes charitable gifts, builds charitable insti-
tutions, and if the compassion be heartfelt, perhaps even
visits those that labor and are heavy laden. But to invite
them to come to one, that will never do, because then all
one's household and manner of living would have to be
changed. For a man cannot himself live in abundance,
or at any rate in well-being and happiness, and at the same
time dwell in one and the same house together with, and in
daily intercourse with, the poor and miserable, with them
that labor and are heavy laden ! In order to be able to
invite them in such wise, a man must himself live altogether
in the same way, as poor as the poorest, as lowly as the
lowliest, familiar with the sorrows and sufferings of life,
and altogether belonging to the same station as they whom
he invites, that is, they who labor and are heavy laden.
If he wishes to invite a sufferer, he must either change
his own condition to be like that of the sufferer, or else
change that of the sufferer to be like his own ; for if this is
not done the difference will stand out only the more by con-
trast. And if you wish to invite all those who suffer — for
you may make an exception with one of them and change
his condition — it can be done only in one way, which is,
to change your condition so as to live as they do ; provided
your life be not already lived thus, as was the case with Kim
who said : "Come hither unto me, all ye that labor and are
heavy laden !" Thus said he ; and they who lived with him
saw him, and behold! there was not even the least thing

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 155

in his manner of life to contradict it. With the silent and
truthful eloquence of actual performance his life expresses
— even though he had never in his life said these words —
his life expresses: "Come hither unto me, all ye that labor
and are heavy laden" ! He abides by his word, or he him-
self is the word ; he is what he says, and also in this sense
he is the Word.*

"All ye that labor and are heavy lade n."
Strange ! His only concern is lest there be a single one who
labors and is hea\^^ laden who does not hear this invitation.
Neither does he fear that too many will come. Ah, heart-
room makes house-room; but where wilt thou find heart-
room, if not in his heart? He leaves it to each one how to
understand his invitation: he has a clear conscience about
it, for he has invited all those that labor and are heavy
laden.

But what means it, then, to labor and be heavy laden?
Why does he not offer a clearer explanation so that one may
know exactly whom he means, and why is he so chary of his
words? Ah, thou narrow-minded one, he is so chary of his
words, lest he be narrow-minded ; and thou narrow-hearted
one, he is so chary of his words lest he be narrow-hearted.
For such is his love — and love has regard to all — as to pre-
vent any one from troubling and searching his heart
whether he too be among those invited. And he who would
insist on a more definite explanation, is he not likely to be
some self-loving person who is calculating whether this
explanation does not particularly fit himself; one who does
not consider that the more of such exact explanations are
offered, the more certainly some few would be left in doubt
as to whether they were invited? Ah man, why does thine
eye see only thyself, why is it evil because he is good ?** The
invitation to all men opens the arms of him who invites, and
thus he stands of aspect everlasting; but no sooner is a

*John I, 1.
*aMatthew 20, 15.

156 University of Texas Bulletin

closer explanation attempted which might help one or the
other to another kind of certainty, than his aspect would
be transformed and, as it were, a shadow of change would
pass over his countenance.

" I will give you res t." Strange ! For then the
words "come hither unto me" must be understood to mean :
stay with me, I am rest; or, it is rest to remain with me.
It is not, then, as in other cases where he who helps and says
"come hither" must afterwards say: "now depart again,"
explaining to each one where the help he needs is to be
found, where the healing herb grows which will cure him,
or where the quiet spot is found where he may rest from
labor, or where the happier continent exists where one is
not heavy laden. But no, he who opens his arms, inviting
every one — ah, if all, all they that labor and are heavy laden
came to him, he would fold them all to his heart, saying:
"stay with me now ; for to stay with me is rest." The helper
himself is the help. Ah, strange, he who invites everybody
and wishes to help everybody, his manner of treating the
sick is as if calculated for every sick man, and as if every
sick man who comes to him were his only patient. For
otherwise a physician divides his time among many patients
who, however great their number, still are far, far from
being all mankind. He will prescribe the medicine, he will
say what is to be done, and how it is to be used, and then he
will go — to some other patient ; or, in case the patient should
visit him, he will let him depart. The physician cannot re-
main sitting all day with one patient, and still less can he
have all his patients about him' in his home, and yet sit all
day with one patient without neglecting the others. For
this reason the helper and his help are not one and the same
thing. The help which the physician prescribes is kept
with him by the patient all day so that he may constantly
use it, whilst the physician visits him now and again ; or he
visits the physician now and again. But if the helper is
also the help, why, then he will stay with the sick man all
day, or the sick man with him — ah, strange that it is just
this helper who invites all men !

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 157
II

COME HITHER ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY LADEN,
AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST.

What enormous multiplicity, what an almost boundless
diversity, of people invited; for a man, a lowly man, may,
indeed, try to enumerate only a few of these diversities —
but he who invites must invite all men, even if every one
specially and individually.

The invitation goes forth, then — along the highways and
the byways, and along the loneliest paths; aye, goes forth
where there is a path so lonely that one man only, and no
one else, knows of it, and goes forth where there is but one
track, the track of the wretched one who fled along that path
with his misery, that and no other track; goes forth even
where there is no path to show how one may return: even
there the invitation penetrates and by itself easily and surely
finds its way back — most easily, indeed, when it brings the
fugitive along to him that issued the invitation. Come
hither, come hither all ye, also thou, and thou, and thou,
too, thou loneliest of all fugitives !

Thus the invitation goes forth and remains standing,
wheresoever there is a parting of the ways, in order to call
out. Ah, just as the trumpet call of the soldiers is di-
rected to the four quarters of the globe, likewise does this
invitation sound wherever there is a meeting of roads ; with
no uncertain sound — for who would then come? — ^but with
the certitude of eternity.

It stands by the parting of the ways where worldly and
earthly sufferings have set down their crosses, and calls
out : Come hither, all ye poor and wretched ones, ye who in
poverty must slave in order to assure yourselves, not of a
care-free, but of a toilsome, future ; ah, bitter contradiction,
to have to slave for — a s s u r i n g one's self of that under
which one groans, of that which one flees! Ye despised
and overlooked ones, about whose existence no one, aye, no
one is concerned, not so much even as about some domestic

158 University of Texas Bulletin

animal which is of greater value! Ye sick, and halt, and
blind, and deaf, and crippled, come hither! — Ye bed-ridden,
aye, come hither, ye too; for the invitation makes bold to
invite even the bed-ridden — to come! Ye lepers; for the
invitation breaks down all differences in order to unite all,
it wishes to make good the hardship caused by the difference
in men, the difference which seats one as a ruler over mil-
lions, in possession of all gifts of fortune, and drives another
one out into the wilderness — and why? (ah, the cruelty
of it!) because (ah, the cruel human inference!) because
he is wretched, indescribably wretched. Why then? Be-
cause he stands in need of help, or at any rate, of compas-
sion. And why, then? Because human compassion is a
wretched thing which is cruel when there is the greatest
need of being compassionate, and compassionate only when,
at bottom, it is not true compassion ! Ye sick of heart, ye
who only through your anguish learned to know that a
man's heart and an animal's heart are two different things,
and what it means to be sick at heart — what it means when
the physician may be right in declaring one sound of heart
and yet heart-sick; ye whom faithlessness deceived and
whom human sympathy — for the sympathy of man is rarely
late in coming — whom human sympathy made a target for
mockery; all ye wronged and aggrieved and ill-used; all ye
noble ones who, as any and everybody will be able to tell
you, deservedly reap the reward of ingratitude (for why
were ye simple enough to be noble, why foolish enough to
be kindly, and disinterested, and faithful) — all ye victims
of cunning, of deceit, of backbiting, of envy, whom base-
ness chose as its victim and cowardice left in the lurch,
whether now ye be sacrificed in remote and lonely places,
after having crept away in order to die, or whether ye be
trampled underfoot in the thronging crowds where no one
asks what rights ye have, and no one, what wrongs ye suf-
fer, and no one, where ye smart or how ye smart, whilst the
crowd with brute force tramples you into the dust — come
ye hither!

The invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where
death parts death and life. Come hither all ye that sorrow

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 159

and ye that vainly labor! For indeed there is rest in the
grave ; but to sit by a grave, or to stand by a grave, or to
visit a grave, all that is far from lying in the grave ; and to
read to one's self again and again one's own words which
one knows by heart, the epitaph which one devised one's
self and understands best, namely, who it is that lies buried
here, all that is not the same as to lie buried one's self.
In the grave there is rest, but by the grave there is no
rest ; for it is said : so far and no farther, and so you may as
well go home again. But however often, whether in your
thoughts or in fact, you return to that grave — you will
never get any farther, you will not get away from the spot,
and this is very trying and is by no means rest. Come ye
hither, therefore: here is the way by which one may go
farther, here is rest by the grave, rest from the sorrow over
loss, or rest in the sorrow of loss — through him who ever-
lastingly re-unites those that are parted, and more firmly
than nature unites parents with their children, and children
with their parents — for, alas! they were parted; and more
closely than the minister unites husband and wife — for,
alas ! their separation did come to pass ; and more indissol-
ubly than the bond of friendship unites friend with friend
— for, alas! it was broken. Separation penetrated every-
where and brought with it sorrow and unrest; but here is
rest! — Come hither also ye who had your abodes assigned
to you among the graves, ye who are considered dead to
human society, but neither missed nor mourned — not buried
and yet dead ; that is, belonging neither to life nor to death ;
ye, alas ! to whom human society cruelly closed its doors and
for whom no grave has as yet opened itself in pity — come
hither, ye also, here is rest, and here is life!

The invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where
the road of sin turns away from the inclosure of innocence
— ah, come hither, ye are so close to him ; but a single
step in the opposite direction, and ye are infinitely far from
him. Very possibly ye do not yet stand in need of rest,
nor grasp fully what that means ; but still follow the invi-
tation, so that he who invites may save you from a predica-
ment out of which it is so difficult and dangerous to be saved ;

160 University of Texas Bulletin

and so that, being saved, ye may stay with him who is the
Savior of all, likewise of innocence. For even if it were
possible that innocence be found somewhere, and altogether
pure: why should not innocence also need a savior to keep
it safe from evil? — The invitation stands at the parting of
the ways, where the road of sin turns away to enter more
deeply into sin. Come hither all ye who have strayed and
have been lost, whatever may have been your error and sin :
whether one more pardonable in the sight of man and nev-
ertheless perhaps more frightful, or one more terrible in
the sight of man and yet, perchance, more pardonable;
whether it be one which became known here on earth or
one which, though hidden, yet is known in heaven — and
even if ye found pardon here on earth without finding rest
in your souls, or found no pardon because ye did not seek
it, or because ye sought it in vain : ah, return and come
hither, here is rest!

The invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where
the road of sin turns away for the last time and to the eye
is lost in perdition. Ah, return, return, and come hither!
Do not shrink from the difficulties of the retreat, however
great; do not fear the irksome way of conversion, how-
ever laboriously it may lead to salvation ; whereas sin with
winged speed and growing pace leads forward or — down-
ward, so easily, so indescribably easy — as easily, in fact,
as when a horse, altogether freed from having to pull, can-
not even with all his might stop the vehicle which pushes
him into the abyss. Do not despair over each relapse which
the God of patience has patience enough to pardon, and
which a sinner should surely have patience enough to hum-
ble himself under. Nay, fear nothing and despair not:
he that sayeth "come hither," he is with you on the way,
from him come help and pardon on that way of conversion
which leads to him; and with him is rest.

Come hither all, all ye — ^with him is rest; and he will
raise no difficulties, he does but one thing: he opens his
arms. He will not first ask you, you sufferer — as righteous
men, alas, are accustomed to, even when willing to help —
"Are you not perhaps yourself the cause of your misfor-

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 161

tune, have you nothing with which to reproach yourself?"
It is so easy to fall into this very human error, and from
appearances to judge a man's success or failure: for in-
stance, if a man is a cripple, or deformed, or has an un-
prepossessing appearance, to infer that therefore he is a
bad man; or, when a man is unfortunate enough to suffer
reverses so as to be ruined or so as to go down in the world,
to infer that therefore he is a vicious man. Ah, and this
is such an exquisitely cruel pleasure, this being conscious
of one's own righteousness as against the sufferer — explain-
ing his afflictions as God's punishment, so that one does not
even — dare to help him ; or asking him that question which
condemns him and flatters our own righteousness, before
helping him. But he will not ask you thus, will not in such
cruel fashion be your benefactor. And if you are yourself
conscious of your sin he will not ask about it, will not break
still further the bent reed, but raise you up, if you will but
join him. He will not point you out by way of contrast,
and place you outside of Himself , so that your sin will stand
out as still more terriblie;'^ but he will grant you a hiding
place within him ; and hftWen within him your sins will be
hidden. For he is the friend of sinners. Let him but be-
hold a sinner, and he not only stands still, opening his arms
and saying "come hither," nay, but he stands — and waits,
as did the father of the prodigal son ; or he does not merely
remain standing and waiting, but goes out to search, as the
shepherd went forth to search for the strayed sheep, or as
the woman went to search for the lost piece of silver. He
goes — nay. he has gone, but an infinitely longer way than
any shepherd or any woman, for did he not go the infinitely
long way from being God to becoming man, which he did
to seek sinners?

HI

COME HITHER UNTO ME ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY
LADEN, AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST.

"Come hither!" For he supposes that they that

162 University of Texas Bulletin

labor and are heavy laden feel their burden and their labor,
and that they stand there now, perplexed and sighing — one
casting about with his eyes to discover whether there is
help in sight anywhere; another with his eyes fixed on the
ground, because he can see no consolation ; and a third with
his eyes staring heavenward, as though help was bound
to come from heaven — but all seeking. Therefore he say-
eth : "come hither !" But he invites not him who has ceased
to seek and to sorrow. — "C ome hither!" For he who
invites knows that it is a mark of true suffering, if one
walks alone and broods in silent disconsolateness, without
courage to confide in any one, and with even less self-confi-
dence to dare to hope for help. Alas, not only he whom
we read about was possessed of a dumb devil. ^' No suf-
fering which does not first of all render the sufferer
dumb is of much significance, no more than the love
which does not render one silent; for those sufferers
who run on about their afflictions neither labor nor are
heavy laden. Behold, therefore the inviter will not wait
till they that labor and are heavy laden come to him, but
calls them lovingly; for all his willingness to help might,
perhaps, be of no avail if he did not say these words and
thereby take the first step; for in the call of these words:
"come hither unto me!" he comes himself to them. Ah,
human compassion — sometimes, perhaps, it is indeed praise-
worthy self-restraint, sometimes, perhaps, even true com-
passion, which may cause you to refrain from questioning
him whom you suppose to be brooding over a hidden afflic-
tion; but also, how often indeed is this compassion but
worldly wisdom which does not care to know too much!
Ah, human 'compassion — how often was it not pure curi-
osity, and not compassion, which prompted you to venture
into the secret of one afflicted ; and how burdensome it was
— almost like a punishment of your curiosity — when he ac-
cepted your invitation and came to you 1 But he who sayeth
these redeeming words "Come hither!" he is not deceiving
himself in saying these words, nor will he deceive you when

•■Luke 11, 14.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 163

you come to him in order to find rest by throwing your
burden on him. He follows the promptings of his heart in
saying these words, and his heart follows his words; if
you then follow these words, they will follow you back again
to his heart. This follows as a matter of course — ah, will
you not follow the invitation ? — "C ome hither!" For
he supposes that they that labor and are heavy laden are so
worn out and overtaxed, and so near swooning that they
have forgotten, as though in a stupor, that there is such
a thing as consolation. Alas, or he knows for sure that
there is no consolation and no help unless it is sought from
him ; and therefore must he call out to them "Come hither !"

"Come hither!" For is it not so that every society
has some symbol or token which is worn by those who belong
to it? When a young girl is adorned in a certain manner
one knows that she is going to the dance: Come hither all
ye that labor and are heavy laden — come hither! You
need not carry an external and visible badge ; come but with
your head anointed and your face washed, if only you labor
in your heart and are heavy laden.

"Come hither !" Ah, do not stand still and consider ; nay,
consider, consider that with every moment you stand still
after having heard the invitation you will hear the call more
faintly and thus withdraw from it, even though you are
standing still. — "Come hither!" Ah, however weary and
faint you be from work, or from the long, long and yet
hitherto fruitless search for help and salvation, and even
though you may feel as if you could not take one more step,
and not wait one more moment, without dropping to the
ground : ah, but this one step and here is rest ! — "Come
hither!" But if, alas, there be one who is so wretched that
he cannot come? — Ah, a sigh is sufficient; your mere sigh-
ing for him is also to come hither.

164 University of Texas BuUetin

THE PAUSE

COME HITHER UNTO ME ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY
LADEN, AND I SHALL GIVE YOU REST.

Pause now! But what is there to give pause? That
which in the same instant makes all undergo an absolute
change — so that, instead of seeing an immense throng of
them that labor and are heavy laden following the invita-
tion, you will in the end behold the very opposite, that is,
an immense throng of men who flee back shudderingly,
scrambling to get away, trampling all down before them ;
so that, if one were to infer the sense -of what had been
said from the result it produced, one would have to infer
that the words had been "p7'ocul o procul este profani,"
rather than "come hither" — that gives pause which is in-
finitely more important and infinitely more decisive: THE
PERSON OF HIM WHO INVITES. Not in the sense that he is
not the man to do what he has said, or not God, to keep what
he has promised ; no, in a very different sense.

Pause is given by the fact that he who invites is, and in-
sists on being, the definite historic person he was 1800 years
ago, and that he as this definite person, and living under the
conditions then obtaining, spoke these words of invitation.
— He is not, and does not wish to be, one about whom one
may simply know something from history (i.e. world his-
tory, history proper, as against Sacred History) ; for from
history one cannot "learn" anything about him, the simple

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 165

reason being that nothing can be "known" about him. — He
does not wish to be judged in a human way, from the re-
sults of his life; that is, he is and wishes to be, a rock of
offense and the object of faith. To judge him after the
consequences of his life is a blasphemy, for being God, his
life, and the very fact that he was then living and really
did live, is infinitely more important than all the conse-
quences of it in history.

a.

Who spoke these words of invitation?

He that invites. Who is he? Jesus Christ. Which
Jesus Christ? He that sits in glory on the right side of his
Father? No, From his seat of glory he spoke not a single
word. Therefore it is Jesus Christ in his lowliness, and in
the condition of lowliness, who spoke these words.

Is then Jesus Christ not the sam.e? Yes, verily, he is to-
day, and was yesterday, and 1800 years ago, the same who
abased himself, assuming the form of a servant — the Jesus
Christ who spake these words of invitation. It is also he
who hath said that he would return again in glory. In his
return in glory he is, again, the same Jesus Christ ; but this
has not yet come to pass.

Is he then not in glory now? Assuredly, that the Chris-
tian believes. But it was in his lowly condition that he
spoke these words ; he did not speak them from his glory.
And about his return in glory nothing can be known, for
this can in the strictest sense be a matter of belief only.
But a believer one cannot become except by having gone
to him in his lowly condition — to him, the rock of offense
and the object of faith. In other shape he does not exist,
for only thus did he exist. That he will return in glory
is indeed expected, but can be expected and believed only
by him who believes, and has believed, in him as he was here
on earth.

166 University of Texas Bulletin

Jesus Christ is, then, the same; yet lived he 1800 years
ago in debasement, and is transfigured only at his return.
As yet he has not returned ; therefore he is still the one in
lowly guise about whom we believe that he will return in
glory. Whatever he said and taught, every word he spoke,
becomes eo ipso untrue if we give it the appearance of hav-
ing been spoken by Christ in his glory. Nay, h e is silent.
It is the lowly Christ who speaks. The space of time
between (i.e. between his debasement and his return in
glory) which is at present about 1800 years, and will pos-
sibly become many times 1800 — this space of time, or else
what this space of time tries to make of Christ, the worldly
information about him furnished by world history or church
history, as to who Christ was, as to who it was who really
spoke these words — all this does not concern us, is neither
here nor there, but only serves to corrupt our conception
of him, arid thereby renders untrue these words of invita-
tion.

It is untruthful of me to impute to a person words which
he never used. But it is likewise untruthful, and the words
he used likewise become untruthful, or it becomes untrue
that he used them, if I assign to him a nature essentially
unlike the one he had when he did use them. Essentially
unlike ; for an untruth concerning this or the other trifling
circumstance will not make it untrue that "he" said them.
And therefore, if it please God to walk on earth in such
strict incognito as only one all-powerful can assume, in
guise impenetrable to all men; if it please him — and why
he does it, for what purpose, that he knows best himself;
but whatever the reason and the purpose, it is certain that
the incognito is of essential significance — I say, if it please
God to walk on earth in the guise of a servant and, to judge
from his appearance, exactly like any other rnan ; if it please
him to teach men in this guise — if, now, any one repeats his
very words, but gives the saying the appearance that it was
God that spoke these words : then it is untruthful ; for it is
untrue that he said these words.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 161

b.

Can one from history* learn to know anything about
Christ?

No. And why not? Because one cannot "know" any-
thing at all about "Christ"; for he is the paradox, the ob-
ject of faith, and exists only for faith. But all historic in-
formation is communication of "knowledge." Therefore
one cannot learn anything about Christ from history. For
whether now one learn little or much about him, it will not
represent what he was in reality. Hence one learns some-
thing else about him than what is strictly true, and there-
fore learns nothing about him, or gets to know something
wrong about him; that is, one is deceived. History makes
Christ look different from what he looked in truth, and
thus one learns much from history about — Christ? No, not
about Christ; because about him nothing can be "known,"
he can only be believed.

c.

Can one prove from history that Christ was God ?

Let me first ask another question: is any more absurd
contradiction thinkable than wishing to PROVE (no matter,
for the present, whether one wishes to do so from history,
or from whatever else in the wide world one wishes to
prove it) that a certain person is God? To maintain that
a certain person is God — that is, professes to be God — is
indeed a stumbling block in the purest sense. But what is
the nature of a stumbling block? It is an assertion which
is at variance with all (human) reason. Now think of
proving that ! But to prove something is to render it rea-
sonable and real. Is it possible, then, to render reasonable

"Kierkegaard's note: by history we mean here profane history,
world history, history as such, as against Sacred History.

168 University of Texas Bulletin

and real what is at variance with all reason? Scarcely;
unless one wishes to contradict one's self. One can prove
only that it is at variance with all reason. The proofs for
the divinity of Christ given in Scripture, such as the mirar
cles and his resurrection from the grave exist, too, only for
faith ; that is, they are no "proofs," for they are not meant
to prove that all this agrees with reason but, on the con-
trary, are meant to prove that it is at variance with reason
and therefore a matter of faith.

First, then, let us take up the proofs from history. "Is
it not 1800 years ago now that Christ lived, is not his name
proclaimed and reverenced throughout the world, has not
his teaching (Christianity) changed the aspect of the world,
having victoriously affected all affairs : has then history not
sufficiently, or more than sufficiently, made good its claim
as to who he was, and that he was — God?" No, indeed,
history has by no means sufficiently, or more than suffi-
ciently, made good its claim, and in fact history cannot ac-
complish this in all eternity. However, as to the first part
of the statement, it is true enough that his name is pro-
claimed throughout the world — as to whether it is rever-
enced, that I do not presume to decide. Also, it is true
enough that Christianity has transformed the aspect of the
world, having victoriously affected all affairs, so victoriously
indeed, that everybody now claims to be a Christian.

But what does this prove ? It proves, at most, that Jesus
Christ was a great man, the greatest, perhaps, who ever
lived. But that he was God — stop now, that conclusion
shall with God's help fall to the ground.

Now, if one intends to introduce this conclusion by as-
suming that Jesus Christ was a man, and then considers the
1800 years of history (i.e. the consequences of his life),
one may indeed conclude with a constantly rising superla-
tive: he was great, greater, the greatest, extraordinarily
and astonishingly the greatest man who ever lived. If one
begins, on the other hand, with the assumption (of faith)
that he was God, one has by so doing stricken out and car
celled the 1800 years as not making the slightest difference,
one way or the other, because the certainty of faith is on

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 169

an infinitely higher plane. And one course or the other one
must take; but we shall arrive at sensible conclusions only
if we take the latter.

If one takes the former course one will find it impossible —
unless by committing the logical error of passing over into
different category — one will find it impossible in the con-
clusion suddenly to arrive at the new category "God" ; that
5, one cannot make the consequence, or consequences, of —
man's life suddenly prove at a certain point in the argu-
lent that this man was God. If such a procedure were
correct one ought to be able to answer satisfactorily a ques-
tion like this : what must the consequence be, how great the
effects, how many centuries must elapse, in order to infer
from the consequences of a man's life — for such was the
assumption — that he was God; or whether it is really the
jase that in the year 300 Christ had not yet been entirely
>roved to be God, though certainly the most extraordinarily,
astonishingly, greatest man who had ever lived, but that a
few more centuries would be necessarj^ to prove that he was
Grod. In that case we would be obliged to infer that people
in the fourth century did not look upon Christ as God. and
jtill less they who lived in the first century; whereas the
certainty that he was God would grow with every century,
ilso, that in our century this certainty would be greater
than it had ever been, a certainty in comparison with which
the first centuries hardly so much as glimpsed his divinity.
You may answer this question or not, it does not matter.
In general, is it at all possible by the consideration of the
gradually unfolding consequences of something to arrive at
conclusion different in quality from what we started with ?
ts it not sheer insanity (providing man is sane) to let one's
judgment become so altogether confused as to land in the
rrong category? And if one begins with such a mistake,
then how will one be able, at any subsequent point, to infer
from the consequences of something, that one has to deal
rith an altogether different, in fact, infinitely different,
itegory? A foot-print certainly is the consequence of
jome creature having made it. Now I may mistake the
rack for that of, let us say, a bird ; whereas by nearer in-

170 University of Texas Bulletin

spection, and by following it for some distance, I may make
sure that it was made by some other animal. Very good;
but there was no infinite difference in quality between my
first assumption and my later conclusion. But can I, on
further consideration and following the track still further,
arrive at the conclusion : therefore it was a spirit — a spirit
that leaves no tracks ? Precisely the same holds true of the
argument that from the consequences of a human life — for
that was the assumption — we may infer that therefore it
was God.

Is God then so like man, is there so little difference be-
tween the two that, while in possession of my right senses,
I may begin with the assumption that Christ was human?
And, for that matter, has not Christ himself affirmed that
he was God ? On the other hand, if God and man resemble
each other so closely, and are related to each other to such a
degree — that is, essentially belong to the same category of
beings, then the conclusion "therefore he was God" is never-
theless just humbug, because if that is all there is to being
God, then God does not exist at all. But if God does exist
and, therefore, belongs to a category infinitely different
from man, why, then neither I nor any one else can start
with the assumption that Christ was human and end with
the conclusion that therefore he was God. Any one with
a bit of logical sense will easily recognize that the whole
question about the consequences of Christ's life on earth
is incommensurable with the decision that he is God. In
fact, this decision is to be made on an altogether different
plane : man must decide for himself whether he will believe
Christ to be what he himself affirmed he was, that is, God;
or whether he will not believe so.

What has been said — mind you, providing one will take
the time to understand it — is sufficient to make a logical
mind stop drawing any inferences from the consequences of
Christ's life: that therefore he was God. But faith in its
own right protests against every attempt to approach Jesu?
Christ by the help of historical information about the con-
sequences of his life. Faith contends that this whole at-
tempt is — b lasphemous. Faith contends that the onlj

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 171

proof left unimpaired by unbelief when it did away with all
the other proofs of the truth of Christianity, the proof
which — indeed, this is complicated business — I say, which
unbelief invented in order to prove the truth of Christi-
anity— the proof about which so excessively much ado has
been made in Christendom, the proof of 1800 years: as to
this, faith contends that it is — b 1 a s p h e m y.

With regard to a m a n it is true that the consequences
of his life are more important than his life. If one, then,
in order to find out who Christ was, and in order to find
out by some inference, considers the consequences of his
life: why, then one changes him into a man by this very
act — a man who, like other men, is to pass his examination
in history, and history is in this case as mediocre an exam-
iner as any half-baked teacher in Latin.

But strange! By the help of history, that is, by consid-
ering the consequences of his life, one wishes to arrive at
the conclusion that therefore, therefore he was
God ; and faith makes the exactly opposite contention that
he who even begins with this syllogism is guilty of blas-
phemy. Nor does the blasphemy consist in assuming hypo-
thetically that Christ was a man. No, the blasphemy con-
sists in the thought which lies at the bottom of the whole
business, the thought without Which one would never start
it, and of whose validity one is fully and firmly assured that
it will hold also with regard to Christ — the thought that the
consequences of his life are more important than his life;
in other words, that he is a man. The hypothesis is: let
us assume that Christ was a man ; but at the bottom of this
hypothesis, which is not blasphemy as yet, there lies the
assumption that, the consequences of a man's life being more
important than his life, this will hold true also of Christ.
Unless this is assumed one must admit that one's whole ar-

Igument is absurd, must admit it before beginning — so why
begin at all? But once it is assumed, and the argument is
started, we have the blasphemy. And the more one be-
comes absorbed in the consequences of Christ's life, with
the aim of being able to make sure whether or no he was
God, the more blasphemous is one's conduct; and it remains

172 University of Texas Bulletin

blasphemous so long as this consideration is persisted in.

Curious coincidence: one tries to make it appear that,
providing one but thoroughly considers the consequences of
Christ's life, this "therefore" will surely be arrived at —
and faith condemns the very beginning of this attempt as
blasphemy, and hence the continuance in it as a worse blas-
phemy.

"History," says faith, "has nothing to do with Christ."
With regard to him we have only Sacred History (which is
different in kind from general history). Sacred History
which tells of his life and career when in debasement, and
tells also that he affirmed himself to be God. He is the
paradox which history never will be able to digest or con-
vert into a general syllogism. He is in his debasement the
same as he is in his exaltation — but the 1800 years, or let it
be 18,000 years, have nothing whatsoever to do with this.
The brilliant consequences in the history of the world which
are sufficient, almost, to convince even a professor of history
that he was God, these brilliant consequences surely do not
represent his return in glory! Forsooth, in that case it
were imagined rather meanly ! The same thing over again :
Christ is thought to be a man whose return in glory can be,
and can become, nothing else than the consequences of his
life in history — whereas Christ's return in glory is some-
thing absolutely different and a matter of faith. He abased
himself and was swathed in rags — he will return in glory;
but the brilliant consequences in history, especially when
examined a little more closely, are too shabby a glory —
at any rate a glory of an altogether incongruous nature, of
which faith therefore never speaks, when speaking about
his glory. History is a very respectable science indeed,
only it must not become so conceited as to take upon itself
what the Father will do, and clothe Christ in his glory,
dressing him up with the brilliant garments of the conse-
quences of his life, as if that constituted his return. That
he was God in his debasement and that he will return in
glory, all this is far beyond the comprehension of history;
nor can all this be got from history, excepting by an incom-
parable lack of logic, and however incomparable one's view
of history may be otherwise.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 173

How strange, then, that one ever wished to use history
in order to prove Christ divine.

d.

Are the consequences of Christ's life
more important than his life?

No, by no means, but rather the opposite ; for else Christ
were but a man.

There is really nothing remarkable in a man having lived.
There have certainly lived millions upon millions of men.
If the fact is remarkable, there must have been something
remarkable in a man's life. In other words, there is noth-
ing remarkable in his having lived, but his life was remark-
able for this or that. The remarkable thing may, among
other matters, also be what he accomplished; that is, the
consequences of his life.

But that God lived here on earth in human form, that is
infinitely remarkable. No matter if his life had had no
consequences at all — it remains equally remarkable, infi-
nitely remarkable, infinitely more remarkable than all pos-
sible consequences. Just try to introduce that which is re-
markable as something secondary and you will straightway
see the absurdity of doing so : now, if you please, whatever
remarkable is there in God's life having had remarkable
consequences? To speak in this fashion is merely twad-
dling.

No, that God lived here on earth, that is what is infinitely
remarkable, that which is remarkable in itself. Assuming
that Christ's life had had no consequences whatsoever — if
any one then undertook to say that therefore his life was
not remarkable it would be blasphemy. For it would be
remarkable all the same; and if a secondary remarkable
characteristic had to be introduced it would consist in the
remarkable fact that his life had no consequences. But if
one should say that Christ's life was remarkable because

174 University of Texas Bulletin

of its consequences, then this again were a blasphemy; for
it is his life which in itself is the remarkable thing.

There is nothing very remarkable in a man's having lived,
but it is infinitely remarkable that God has lived, God alone
can lay so much emphasis on himself that the fact of his
having lived becomes infinitely more important than all
the consequences which may flow therefrom and which then
become a matter of history.

A comparison between Christ and
a man who in his life endured the
same treatment by his times as Christ
endured.

Let us imagine a man, one of the exalted spirits, one who
was wronged by his times, but whom history later reinstated
in his rights by proving by the consequences of his life who
he was. I do not deny, by the way, that all this business
of proving from the consequences is a course well suited
to "a world which ever wishes to be deceived." For he who
was contemporary with him and did not understand who he
was, he really only imagines that he understands when he
has got to know it by help of the consequences of the noble
one's life. Still, I do not wish to insist on this point, for
with regard to a man it certainly holds true that the conse-
quences of his life are more important than the fact of his
having lived.

Let us imagine one of these exalted spirits. He lives among
his contemporaries without being understood, his signifi-
cance is not recognized — he is misunderstood, and then
mocked, persecuted, and finally put to death like a common
evil-doer. But the consequences of his life make it plain
who he was; history which keeps a record of these conse-
quences re-instates him in his rightful position, and now he
is named in one century after another as the great and the
noble spirit, and the circumstances of his debasement are
almost completely forgotten. It was blindness on the part

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 175

of his contemporaries which prevented them from compre-
hending his true nature, and wickedness which made them
mock him and deride him, and finally put him to death.
But be no more concerned about this ; for only after his
death did he really become what he was, through the conse-
quences of his life which, after all, are by far more im-
portant than his life.

Now is it not possible that the same holds true with re-
gard to Christ? It was blindness and wickedness on the
part of those times' — but be no more concerned about this,
history has now re-instated him, from history we know now
who Jesus Christ was, and thus justice is done him.

Ah, wicked thoughtlessness which thus interprets Sacred
History like profane history, which makes Christ a man!
But can one, then, learn anything from history about Jesus?
(cf. h) No, nothing. Jesus Christ is the object of faith —
one either believes in him or is offended by him; for "to
know" means precisely that such knowledge does not per-
tain to him. History can therefore, to be sure, give one
knowledge in abundance; but "knowledge" annihilates
Jesus Christ.

Again — ah, the impious thoughtlessness ! — for one to pre-
sume to say about Christ's abasement : "Let us be concerned
no more about his abasement." Surely, Christ's abasement
was not something which merely happened to him — even if
it was the sin of that generation to crucify him ; was surely
not something that simply happened to him and, perhaps,
would not have happened to him in better times. Christ
himself w i s h e d to be abased and lowly. His abasement
(that is, his walking on earth in humble guise, though being
God) is therefore a condition of his own making, some-
thing he wished to be knotted together, a dialectic knot
which no one shall presume to untie, and which no one will
untie, for that matter, until he himself shall untie it when
returning in his glory.

His case is, therefore, not the same as that of a man who,

"Cf. the claim of the Pharisees, Matth. 23, 30: "If we had been
in the days of our fathers, we would not have been partakers with
theni in the blood of the prophets."

176 University of Texas Bulletin

through the injustice inflicted on him by his times, was not
allowed to be himself or to be valued at his worth, while
history revealed who he was ; for Christ himself wished to
be abased — it is precisely this condition which he desired.
Therefore, let history not trouble itself to do him justice,
and let us not in impious thoughtlessness presumptuously
imagine that we as a matter of course know who he was.
For that no one knows; and he who believes it must
become contemporaneous with him in his abasement. When
God chooses to let himself be born in lowliness, when he
who holds all possibilities in his hand assumes the form
of a humble servant, when he fares about defenseless, letting
people do with him what they list : he surely knows what he
does and why he does it; for it is at all events he who has
power over men, and not men who have power over him —
so let not history be so impertinent as to wish to reveal
who he was.

Lastly — ah the blasphemy! — if one should presume to
say that the percution which Christ suffered expresses
something accidental! If a man is persecuted by his gen-
eration it does not follow that he has the right to say that
this would happen to him in every age. Insofar there is
reason in what posterity says about letting bygones be by-
gones. But it is different with Christ! It is not he who
by letting himself be born, and by appearing in Palestine,
is being examined by history ; but it is he who examines, his
life is the examination, not only of that generation, but of
mankind. Woe unto the generation that would pre-
sumptuously dare to say : "let bygones be bygones, and for
get what he suffered, for history has now revealed who he
was and has done justice by him."

If one assumes that history is really able to do this, then
the abasement of Christ bears an accidental relation to
him; that is to say, he thereby is made a man, an extraordi-
nary man to whom this happened through the wickedness of
that generation — a fate which he was far from wishing to
suffer, for he would gladly (as is human) have become a
great man ; whereas Christ voluntarily chose to be the lowly
one and, although it was his purpose to save the world,

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 177

wished also to give expression to what the "truth" suffered
then, and must suffer in every generation. But if this is
his strongest desire, and if he will show himself in his glory
only at his return, and if he has not returned as yet ; and if
no generation may be without repentance, but on the con-
trary every generation must consider itself a partner in
the guilt of that generation : then woe to him who presumes
to deprive him of his lowliness, or to cause what he suffered
to be forgotten, and to clothe him in the fabled human glory
of the historic consequences of his life, which is neither here
nor there.

The Misfortune of Christendom

But precisely this is the misfortune, and has been the
misfortune, in Christendom that Christ is neither the one
nor the other — neither the one he was when living on earth,
nor he who will return in glory, but rather one about whom
we have learned to know something in an inadmissible way
from history — ^that he was somebody or other of great
account. In an inadmissible and unlawful way we have
learned to k n o w him ; whereas to believe in him is the only
permissible mode of approach. Men have mutually con-
firmed one another in the opinion that the sum total of in-
formation about him is available if they but consider the
result of his life and the following 1800 years, i.e. the con-
sequences. Gradually, as this became accepted as the truth,
all pith and strength was distilled out of Christianity; the
paradox was relaxed, one became a Christian without no-
ticing it, without noticing in the least the possibility of being
offended by him. One took over Christ's teachings, turned
them inside out and smoothed them down — he himself guar-
anteeing them, of course, the man whose life had had such
immense consequences in history ! AJl became plain as day
— very naturally, since Christianity in this fashion became
heathendom.

178 University of Texas Bulletin

There is in Christendom an incessant twaddling on Sun-
days about the glorious and invaluable truths of Christian-
ity, its mild consolation. But it is indeed evident that
Christ lived 1800 years ago; for the rock of offense and
object of faith has become a most charming fairy-story
character, a kind of divine good old man,- People have not
the remotest idea of what it means to be offended by him,
and still less, what it means to worship. The qualities for
which Christ is magnified are precisely those which would
have most enraged one, if one had been contemporaneous
with him ; whereas now one feels altogether secure, placing
implicit confidence in the result and, relying altogether on
the verdict of history that he was the great man, concludes
therefore that it is correct to do so. That is to say, it is
the correct, and the noble, and the exalted, and the true,
thing — if it is he who does it; which is to say, again, that
one does not in any deeper sense take the pains to under-
stand what it is he does, and that one tries even less, to the
best of one's ability and with the help of God, to be like him
in acting rightly and nobly, and in an exalted manner, and
truthfully. For, not really fathoming it in any deeper
sense, one may, in the exigency of a contemporaneous situa-
tion, judge him in exactly the opposite way. One is satis-
fied with admiring and extolling and is, perhaps, as was said
of a translator who rendered his original word for word
and therefore without making sense, "too conscientious,"
— one is, perhaps, also too cowardly and too weak to wish to
understand his real meaning.

Christendom has done away with Christianity, without
being aware of it. Therefore, if anything is to be done
about it, the attempt must be made to re-introduce Chris-
tianity.

**One is here irresistibly reminded of passages in Ibsen's "Brand,"
e. g., Brand's conversation with Einar, in Act I. Cf. also p. 207
and Introduction p. 1.

I

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 179
II

He who invites is, then, Jesus Christ in his abasement,
it is he who spoke these words of invitation. It is not from
his glory that they are spoken. If that were the case, then
Christianity were heathendom and the name of Christ taken
in vain, and for this reason it cannot be so. But if it were
the case that he who is enthroned in glory had said these
words : Come hither — as though it were so altogether easy
a matter to be clasped in the arms of glory — well, what
wonder, then, if crowds of men ran to him ! But they who
thus throng to him merely go on a wild goose chase, imag-
ining they know who Christ is. But that no one knows;
and in order to believe in him one has to begin with his
abasement.

He who invites and speaks these words, that is, he whose
words they are — whereas the same words if spoken by some
one else are, as we have seen, an historic falsification — he
is the same lowly Jesus Christ, the humble man, bom of a
despised maiden, whose father is a carpenter, related to
other simple folk of the very lowest class, the lowly man
who at the same time (which, to be sure, is like oil poured
on the fire) affirms himself to be God,

It is the lowly Jesus Christ who spoke these words. And
no word of Christ, not a single one, have you permission to
appropriate to yourself, you have not the least share in him,
are not in any way of his company, if you have not become
his contemporary in lowliness in such fashion that you have
become aware, precisely like his contemporaries, of his
warning : "Blessed is he whosoever shall not be offended in
me."° You have no right to accept Christ's words, and then
lie him away; you have no right to accept Christ's words,
and then in a fantastic manner, and with the aid of history,
utterly change the nature of Christ ; for the chatter of his-
tory about him is literally not worth a fig.

It is Jesus Christ in his lowliness who is the speaker. It
is historically true that h e said these words ; but so soon as

^Matthew 11, 6.

180 University of Texas Bulletin

one makes a change in his historic status, it is false to say
that these words were spoken by him.

This poor and lowly man, then, with twelve poor fellows
as his disciples, all from the lowest class of society, for some
time an object of curiosity, but later on in company only
with sinners, publicans, lepers, and madmen ; for one risked
honor, life, and property, or at any rate (and that we know
for sure) exclusion from the synagogue, by even letting
one's self be helped by him — come hither now, all ye that
labor and are heavy laden! Ah, my friend, even if you
were deaf and blind and lame and leprous, if you, which
has never been seeh or heard before, united all human mis-
eries in your misery — and if he wished to help you by a
miracle: it is possible that (as is human) you would fear
more than all your sufferings the punishment which was
set on accepting aid from him, the punishment of being
cast out from the society of other men, of being ridiculed
and mocked, day after day, and perhaps of losing your life.
It is human (and it is characteristic of being human) were
you to think as follows : "no, thank you, in that case I pre-
fer to remain deaf and blind and lame and leprous, rather
than accept aid under such conditions."

"Come hither, come hither, all, ye that labor and are
heavy laden, ah, come hither," lo! he invites you and opens
his arms. Ah, when a gentlemanly man clad in a silken
gown says this in a pleasant, harmonious voice so that the
words pleasantly resound in the handsome vaulted church,
a man in silk who radiates honor and respect on all who
listen to him ; ah, when a king in purple and velvet says
this, with the Christmas tree in the background on which
are hanging all the splendid gifts he intends to distribute,
why, then of course there is some meaning in these words !
But whatever meaning you may attach to them, so much is
sure that it is not Christianity, but the exact opposite, some-
thing as diametrically opposed to Christianity as may well
be ; for remember who it is that invites !

And now judge for yourself — for that you have a right
to do; whereas men really do not have a right to do what
is so often done, viz. to deceive themselves. That a man

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 181

of such appearance, a man whose company every one shuns
who has the least bit of sense in his head, or the least bit
to lose in the world, that he — well, this is the absurdest and
maddest thing of all, one hardly knows whether to laugh
or to weep about it — that he — indeed, that is the very last
word one would expect to issue from his mouth ; for if he
had said : "Come hither and help me," or : "Leave me alone,"
or: "Spare me," or proudly: "I despise you all," we could
understand that perfectly — but that such a man says:
"Come hither to me!" why, I declare, that looks inviting
indeed ! And still further : "All ye that labor and are heavy
laden" — as though such folk were not burdened enough with
troubles, as though they now, to cap all, should be exposed
to the consequences of associating with him. And then,
finally: "I shall give you rest." What's that? — he help
them? Ah, I am sure even the most good-natured joker
who was contemporary with him would have to say : "Surely,
that was the thing he should have undertaken last of all —
to wish to help others, being in that condition himself!
Why, it is about the same as if a beggar were to inform
the police that he had been robbed. For it is a contradiction
that one who has nothing, and has had nothing, informs us
that he has been robbed ; and likewise, to wish to help others
when one's self needs help most." Indeed it is, humanly
speaking, the most harebrained contradiction, that he who
literally "hath not where to lay his head," that he about
whom it was spoken truly, in a human sense, "Behold the
man!" — that he should say: "Come hither unto me all ye
that suffer— I shall help !"

Now examine yourself — for that you have a right to do.
You have a right to examine yourself, but you really do not
have a right to let yourself without self-examination be de-
luded by "the others" into the belief, or to delude yourself
into the belief, that you are a Christian — therefore examine
yourself: supposing you were contemporary with him I
True enough he — alas I h e affirmed himself to be God ! But
many another madman has made that claim — and his times
gave it as their opinion that he uttered blasphemy. Why,
was not that precisely the reason why a punishment was

182 University of Texas Bulletin

threatened for allowing one's self to be aided by him? It
was the godly care for their souls entertained by the ex-
isting order and by public opinion, lest any one should be
led astray : it was this godly care that led them to persecute
him in this fashion. Therefore, before any one resolves
to be helped by him, let him consider that he must not only
expect the antagonism of men, but — consider it well ! — even
if you could bear the consequences of that step — ^but con-
sider well, that the punishment meted out by men is sup-
posed to be God's punishment of him, "the blasphemer"
— of him who invites !

Come hither n o w all ye that labor and are heavy laden !

How now? Surely this is nothing to run after — some
little pause is given, which is most fittingly used to go around
about by way of another street. And even if you should
not thus sneak out in some way — always providing you feel
yourself to be contemporary with him — or sneak into being
some kind of Christian by belonging to Christendom : yet
there will be a» tremendous pause given, the pause which is
the very condition that faith may arise : you are given pause
by the possibility of being offended in him.

But in order to make it entirely clear, and bring it home
to our minds, that the pause is given by him who invites,
that it is he who gives us pause and renders it by no means
an easy, but a peculiarly difficult, matter to follow his in-
vitation, because one has no right to accept it without ac-
cepting also him who invites — in order to make this entirely
clear I shall briefly review his life under two aspects which,
to be sure, show some difference though both essentially
pertain to his abasement. For it is always an abasement
for God to become man, even if he were to be an emperor
of emperors ; and therefore he is not essentially more
abased because he is a poor, lowly man, mocked, and as
Scripture adds,'° spat upon.

lOLuke 18, 32.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 183

THE FIRST PHASE OF HIS LIFE

And now let us speak about him in a homely fashion, just
as his contemporaries spoke about him, and as one speaks
about some contemporary — let him be a man of the same
kind as we are, whom one meets on the street in passing,
of whom one knows where he lives and in what story, what
his business is, who his parents are, his family, how he looks
and how he dresses, with whom he associates, "and there
is nothing extraordinary about him, he looks as men gen-
erally look" ; in short, let us speak of him as one speaks of
some contemporary about whom one does not make a great
ado; for in living life together with these thousands upon
thousands of real people there is no room for a fine dis-
tinction like this: "Possibly, this man will be remembered
in centuries to come," and "at the same time he is r e a 1 1 y
only a clerk in some shop who is no whit better than his
fellows." Therefore, let us speak about him as contem-
poraries speak about some contemporary. I know very well
what I am doing ; and I want you to believe that the canting
and indolent world-historic habit we have of always rever-
ently speaking about Christ (since one has learned all about
it from history, and has heard so. much about his having
been something very extraordinary, indeed, or something
of that kind) — that reverent habit, I assure you, is not worth
a row of pins but is, rather, sheer thoughtlessness, hypoc-
risy, and as such blasphemy; for it is blasphemy to rever-
ence thoughtlessly him whom one is either to believe in or
to be offended in.

It is the lowly Jesus Christ, a humble man, born of a
maiden of low degree, whose father is a carpenter. To be
sure, his appearance is made under conditions which are
bound to attract attention to him. The small nation among
whom he appears, God's Chosen People as they call them-
selves, live in anticipation of a Messiah who is to bring a
golden period to land and people. You must grant that the
form in which he appears is as different as possible from
what most people would have expected. On the other hand,
his appearance corresponds more to the ancient prophecies

184 University of Texas Bulletin

with which the people are thought to have been familiar.
Thus he presents himself. A predecessor has called atten-
tion to him, and he himself fastens attention very decidedly
on himself by signs and wonders which are noised abroad
in all the land — and he is the hero of the hour, surrounded
by unnumbered multitudes of people wheresoever he fares.
The sensation aroused by him is enormous, every one's eyes
are fastened on him, every one who can go about, aye even
those who can only crawl, must see the wonder — and every
one must have some opinion about him, so that the purvey-
ors of ready-made opinions are put to it because the demand
is so furious and the contradictions so confusing. And yet
he, the worker of miracles, ever remains the humble man
who literally hath not where to lay his head.

And let us not forget: signs and wonders as contempo-
rary events have a markedly greater elasticity in repelling
or attracting than the tame stories generally re-hashed by
the priests, or the still tamer stories about signs and won-
ders that happened — 1800 years ago! Signs and wonders
as contemporary events are something plaguy and impor-
tunate, something which in a highly embarrassing manner
almost compels one to have an opinion, something which, if
one does not happen to be disposed to believe, may exasper-
ate one excessively by thus forcing one to be contempora-
neous with it. Indeed, it renders existence too complicated,
and the more so, the more thoughtful, developed, and cul-
tured one is. It is a peculiarly ticklish matter, this having
to assume that a man who is contemporaneous with one
really performs signs and wonders ; but when he is at some
distance from one, when the consequences of his life stimu-
late the irnagination a bit, then it is not so hard to imagine,
in a fashion, that one believes it.

As I said, then, the people are carried away with him;
they follow him jubilantly, and see signs and wonders, both
those which he performs and those which he does not per-
form, and they are glad in their hope that the golden age
will begin, once he is king. But the crowd rarely have a
clear reason for their opinions, they think one thing today
and another tomorrow. Therefore the wise and the critical

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 185

will not at once participate. Let us see now what the wise
and the critical must think, so soon as the first impression
of astonishment and surprise has subsided.

The shrewd and critical man would probably say: "Even
assuming that this person is what he claims to be, that is.
something extraordinary — for as to his affirming himself
to be God I can, of course, not consider that as anything but
an exaggeration for which I willingly make allowances,
and pardon him, if I really considered him to be something
extraordinary ; for I am not a pedant — assuming then, which
I hesitate to do, for it is a matter on which I shall at anj'
rate suspend my judgment — assuming then that he is really
performing miracles : is it not an inexplicable mystery that
this person can be so foolish, so weak-minded, so altogether
devoid of worldly wisdom, so feeble, or so good-naturedly
vain, or whatever else you please to call it — that he behaves
in this fashion and almost forces his benefactions on men?
Instead of proudly and commandingly keeping people away
from himself at a distance marked by their profoundest
submission, whenever he does allow himself to be seen, at
rare occasions : instead of doing so, think of his being ac-
cessible to every one, or rather himself going to every one,
of having intercourse with everybody, almost as if being the
extraordinary person consisted in his being everybody's
servant," as if the extraordinary person he claims to be
were marked by his being concerned only lest men should
fail to be benefited by him — in short as if being an extra-
ordinary person consisted in being the most solicitous of
all persons. The whole business is inexplicable to me —
what he wants, what his purpose is, what end he has in
mind, what he expects to accomplish; in a word, what the
meaning of it all is. He who by so many a wise saying re-
veals so profound an insight into the human heart, he must
certainly know what I, using but half of my wits, can pre-
dict for him, viz. that in such fashion one gets nowhere in
the world — unless, indeed, despising prudence, one consist-
ently aims to make a fool of one's self or. perchance, goes
so far in sincerity as to prefer being put to death ; but any-

iiMatthew 20, 27f.

186 University of Texas Bulletin

one desiring that must certainly be crazy. Having such
profound knowledge of the human heart he certainly ought
to know that the thing to do is to deceive people and then to
give one's deception the appearance of being a benefaction
conferred on the whole race. By doing so one reaps all
advantages, even the one whose enjoyment is the sweetest
of all, which is, to be called by one's contemporaries a bene-
factor of the human race — for, once in your grave, you may
snap your fingers at what posterity may have to say abouT
you. But to surrender one's self altogether, as he does, and
not to think the least of one's self — in fact, almost to beg
people to accept these benefactions : no, I would not dream
of joining his company. And, of course, neither does he
invite me; for, indeed, he invites only them that labor and
are heavy laden."

Or he would reason as follows : "His life is simply a fan-
tastic dream. In fact, that is the mildest expression one
can use about it ; for, when judging him in this fashion, one
is good-natured enough to forget altogether the evidence
of sheer madness in his claim to be God. This is wildly
fantastical. One may possibly live a few years of one's
youth in such fashion. But he is now past thirty years.
And he is literally nothing. Still further, in a very short
time he will necessarily lose all the respect and reputation
he has gained among the people, the only thing, you may
say, he has gained for himself. One who wishes to keep
in the good graces of the people — the riskiest chance imag-
inable, I will admit — he must act differently. Not many
months will pass before the crowd will grow tired of one
who is so altogether at their service. He will be regarded
as a ruined person, a kind of outcast, who ought to be glad
to end his days in a corner, the world forgetting, by the
world forgot ; providing he does not, by continuing his pre-
vious behavior, prefer to maintain his present attitude and
be fantastic enough to wish to be put to death, which is the
unavoidable consequence of persevering in that course.
What has he done for his future? Nothing. Has he any
assured position? No. What expectations has he? None.
Even this trifling matter : what will he do to pass the time

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 187

when he grows older, the long winter nights, what will he
do to make them pass — why, he cannot even play cards!
He is now enjoying a bit of popular favor — in truth, of all
movable property the most movable — which in a trice may
turn into an enormous popular hatred of him. — Join his
company? No, thank you, I am still, thank God, in my right
mind."

Or he may reason as follows: "That there is something
extraordinary about this person — even if one reserves tne
right, both one's own and that of common sense, to refrain
from venturing any opinion as to his claim of being God —
about that there is really little doubt. Rather, one might be
indignant at Providence's having entrusted such a person
with these powers — a person who does the very opposite
of what he himself bids us do: that we shall not cast our
pearls before the swine; for which reason he will, as he
himself predicts, come to grief by their turning about and
trampling him under their feet. One may always expect
this of swine ; but, on the other hand, one would not expect
that he who had himself called attention to this likelihood,
himself would do precisely^- what he knows one should not
do. If only there were some means of cleverly stealing his
wisdom — for I shall gladly leave him in indisputed posses-
sion of that very peculiar thought of his that he is God —
if one could but rob his wisdom without, at the same time,
becoming his disciple! If one could only steal up to him
at night and lure it from him; for I am more than equal
to editing and publishing it, and better than he, if you please.
I undertake to astonish the whole world by getting some-
thing altogether different out of it ; for I clearly see there
is something wondrously profound in what he says, and the
misfortune is only that he is the man he is. But perhaps,
who knows, perhaps it is feasible, anyway, to fool him out
of it. Perhaps in that respect too he is good-natured and
simple enough to communicate it quite freely to me. It is
not impossible; for it seems to me that the wisdom he un-
questionably possesses, evidently has been entrusted to a
fool, seeing there is so much contradiction in his life. — But

'2The original here does not agree with the sense of the passage.

188 University of Texas Bulletin

as to joining his company and becoming his disciple — no,
indeed, that would be the same as becoming a fool oneself."
Or he might reason as follows : "If this person does indeed
mean to further what is good and true (I do not venture to
decide this), he is helpful at least, in this respect, to youths
and inexperienced people. For they will be benefited, in
this serious life of ours, by learning, the sooner the better,
and very thoroughly — he opens the eyes even of the blindest
to this — that all this pretense of wishing to live only for
goodness and truth contains a considerable admixture of the
ridiculous. He proves how right the poets of our times are
when they let truth and goodness be represented by some
half-witted fellow, one who is so stupid that you can knock
down a wall with him. The idea of exerting one's self, as
this man does, of renouncing everything but pains and
trouble, to be at beck and call all day long, more eager than
the busiest family physician — and pray why? Because he
makes a living by it ? No, not in the very least ; it has never
occurred to him, as far as I can see, to want something in
return. Does he earn any money by it? No, not a red cent
— he has not a red cent to his name, and if he did he would
forthwith give it away. Does he, then, aspire to a position
of honor and dignity in the state? On the contrary, he
loathes all worldly honor. And he who, as I said, condemns
all worldly honor, and practices the art of living on noth-
ing ; he who, if any one, seems best fitted to pass his life in
a most comfortable dolce far niente — which is not such a
bad thing — : he lives under a greater strain than any gov-
ernment official who is rewarded by honor and dignity, lives
under a greater strain than any business man who earns
money like sand. Why does he exert himself thus, or (why
this question about a matter not open to question?) why
should any one exert himself thus — in order to attain to the
happiness of being ridiculed, mocked, and so forth? To be
sure, a peculiar kind of pleasure! That one should push
one's way through a crowd to reach the spot where money,
honor, and glory are distributed — why, that is perfectly
understandable; but to push forward to be whipped: how
exalted, how Christian, how stupid!"

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 189

Or he will reason as follows: "One hears so many rash
opinions about this person from people who understand
nothing — and worship him ; and so many severe condemna-
tions of him by those who, perhaps, misunderstand him
after all. As for me, I am not going to allow myself to be
accused of venturing a hasty opinion, I shall keep entirelj'^
cool and calm; in fact, which counts for still more, I am
conscious of being as reasonable and moderate with him
as is possible. Grant now — which, to be sure. I do only
to a certain extent — grant even that one's reason is im-
pressed by this person. What, then, is my opinion about
him? My opinion is, that for the present, I can form no
opinion about him. I do not mean about his claim of being
God; for about that I can never in all eternity have an
opinion. No, I mean about him as a man. Only by the
consequences of his life shall we be able to decide whether
he was an extraordinary person or whether, deceived by
his imagination, he applied too high a standard, not only to
himself, but also to humanity in general. More I cannot
do for him, try as I may — if he were my only friend, my
own child, I could not judge him more leniently, nor differ-
ently, either. It follows from this, to be sure, that in all
probability, and for good reasons, I shall not ever be able
to have any opinion about him. For in order to be able to
form an opinion I must first see the consequences of his life,
including his very last moments; that is, he must be dead.
Then, and perhaps not even then, may I form an opinion of
him. And> even granting this, it is not really an opinion
about him, for he is then no more. No more is needed to
say why it is impossible for me to join him while he is liv-
ing. The authority he is said to show in his teaching
can have no decisive influence in my case; for it is surely
easy to see that his thought moves in a circle. He quotes as
authority that which he is to prove, which in its turn can
be proved only by the consequences of his life ; provided, of
course, it is not connected with that fixed idea of his about
being God, because if it is therefore he has this au-
thority (because he is God) the answer must be: yes — if!
So much, however, I may admit, that if I could imagine my-

190 University of Texas Bulletin

self living in some later age, and if the consequences of his
life as shown in history had made it plain that he was the
extraordinary person he in a former age claimed to be,
then it might very well be — in fact, I might come very near,
becoming his disciple."

An ecclesiastic would reason as follows : "For an impostor
and demagogue he has, to say the truth, a remarkable air
of honesty about him ; for which reason he cannot be so ab-
solutely dangerous, either, even though the situation looks
dangerous enough while the squall is at its height, and even
though the situation looks dangerous enough with his enor-
mous popularity — until the squall has passed over and the
people — yes, precisely the people — overthrow him again.
The honest thing about him is his claim to be the Messiah
when he resembles him so little as he does. That is hon-
est, just as if some one in preparing bogus paper-money
made the bills so poorly that every one who knows the least
about it cannot fail to detect the fraud. — True enough, we
all look forward to a Messiah, but surely no one with any
sense expects God himself to come, and every religious per-
son shudders at the blasphemous attitude of this person.
We look forward to a Messiah, we are all agreed on that.
But the governance of the world does not go forward tu-
multuously, by leaps and bounds; the development of the
world, as is indicated by the very fact that it is a develop-
ment, proceeds by evolution, not by revolution. The true
Messiah will therefore look quite different, and will arrive
as the most glorious flower, and the highest development,
of that which already exists. Thus will the true Messiah
come, and he will proceed in an entirely different fashion:
he will recognize the existing order as the basis of things,
he will summon all the clergy to council and present to them
the results accomplished by him, as well as his credentials —
and then, if he obtain the majority of the votes when the
ballot is cast, he will be received and saluted as the extra-
ordinary person, as the one he is : the Messiah.^'

"However, there is a duplicity in this man's behavior ; he

^^Bjornson's play of "Beyond Human Power," Part I, Act 2, reads
like an elaboration of these views.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 191

assumes too much the role of judge. It seems as if he
wished to be, at one and the same time, both the judge who
passes sentence on the existing order of things, and the
Messiah. If he does not wish to play the role of the judge,
then why his absolute isolation, his keeping at a distance
from all which has to do with the existing order of things?
And if he does not wish to be the judge, then why his fan-
tastic flight from reality to join the ignorant crowd, then
why with the haughtiness of a revolutionary does he de-
spise all the intelligence and eflSciency to be found in the
existing order of things? And why does he begin afresh
altogether, and absolutely from the bottom up, by the help
of — fishermen and artisans? May not the fact that he is
an illegitimate child fitly characterize his entire relation to
the existing order of things? On the other hand, if he
wishes to be only the Messiah, why then his warning about
putting a piece of new cloth unto an old garment.'* For
these words are precisely the watchwords of every revolu-
tion since they are expressive of a person's discontent with
the existing order and of his wish to destroy it. That is,
these words reveal his desire to remove existing conditions,
rather than to build on them and better them, if one is a
reformer, or to develop them to their highest possibility,
if one is indeed the Messiah. This is duplicity. In fact,
it is not feasible to be both judge and Messiah. Such du-
plicit\' will surely result in his downfall.^ ' The climax in
the life of a judge is his death by violence, and so the poet
pictures it correctly ; but the climax in the life of the Mes-
siah cannot possibly be his death. Or else, by that very
fact, he would not be the Messiah, that is, he whom the ex-
isting order expects in order to deify him. This duplicity
has not as yet been recognized by the people, who see in him
their Messiah; but the existing order of things cannot by
any manner of means recognize him as such. The people,
the idle and loafing crowd, can do so only because they
represent nothing less than the existing order of things.

i^Matthew 9, 16.

i''The following passage is capable of different interpretations in
the original.

192 University of Texas Bulletin

But as soon as the duplicity becomes evident to them, his
doom is sealed. Why, in this respect his predecessor was
a far more definitely marked personality, for he was but
one thing, the judge. But what confusion and thoughtless-
ness, to wish to be both, and what still worse confusion, to
acknowledge his predecessor as the judge — that is, in other
words, precisely to make the existing order of things re-
ceptive and ripe for the Messiah who is to come after the
judge, and yet not wish to associate himself with the exist-
ing order of things!"

And the philosopher would reason as follows: "Such
dreadful or, rather, insane vanity, that a single individual
claims to be God, is a thing hitherto unheard of. Never
before have we been witness to such an excess of pure sub-
jectivity and sheer negation. He has no doctrines, no sys-
tem of philosophy, he knows really nothing, he simply keeps
on repeating, and making variations on, some unconnected
aphoristic sentences, some few maxims, and a couple of
parables by which he dazzles the crowd for whom he also
performs signs and wonders ; so that they, instead of learn-
ing something, or being improved, come to believe in one
who in a most brazen way constantly forces his subjective
views on us. There is nothing objective or positive what-
ever in him and in what he says. Indeed, from a philosoph-
ical point of view, he does not need to fear destruction for
he has perished already, since it is inherent in the nature of
subjectivity to perish. One may in all fairness admit that
his subjectivity is remarkable and that, be it as it may with
the other miracles, he constantly repeats his miracle with
the five small loaves,^" viz., by means of a few lyric utter-
ances and some aphorisms he rouses the whole country. But
even if one were inclined to overlook his insane notion of
affirming himself to be God, it is an incomprehensible mis-
take, which, to be sure, demonstrates a lack of philosophic
training, to believe that God could reveal himself in the
form of an individual. The race, the universal, the total,
is God ; but the race surely is not an individual ! Generally
speaking, that is the impudent assumption of subjectivity,

-Matthew 14, 17.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 193

which claims that the individual is something extraordinary.
But sheer insanity is shown in the claim of an individual
to be God. Because if the insane thing were possible, viz.
that an individual might be God, why, then this individual
would have to be worshipped, and a more beastly philo-
sophic stupidity is not conceivable."

The astute statesman would reason as follows: "That at
present this person wields great power is undeniable — en-
tirely disregarding, of course, this notion of his that he is
God. Foibles like these, being idiosyncrasies, do not count
against a man and concern no one, least of all a statesman.
A statesman is concerned only with what power a man
wields ; and that he does wield great power cannot, as I have
remarked, be denied. But what he intends to do, what his
aim is, I cannot make out at all. If this be calculation it
must be of an entirely new and peculiar order, not so alto-
gether unlike what is otherwise called madness. He pos-
sesses points of considerable strength ; but he seems to de-
feat, rather than to use, it ; he expends it without himself
getting any returns. I consider him a phenomenon with
which — as ought to be one's rule with all phenomena — a
wise man should not have anything to do, since it is im-
possible to calculate him or the catastrophe threatening his
life. It is possible that he will be made king. It is pos-
sible, I say; but it is not impossible, or rather, it is just as-
possible, that he may end on the gallows. He lacks earnest-
ness in all his endeavors. With all his enormous stretch of
wings he only hovers and gets nowhere. He does not seem
to have any definite plan of procedure, but just hovers. Is
it for his nationality he is fighting, or does he aim at a
communistic revolution? Does he wish to establish a re-
public or a kingdom? With which party does he affiliate
himself to combat which party, or does he wish to fight all
parties?

"I have anything to do with him? — No, that would be the
very last thing to enter my mind. In fact, I take all pos-
sible precautions to avoid him. I keep quiet, undertake
nothing, act as if I did not exist ; for one cannot even calcu-
late how he might interfere with one's undertakings, be they

194 University of Texas Bulletin

ever so unimportant, or at any rate, how one might become
involved in the vortex of his activities. Dangerous, in a
certain sense enormously dangerous, is this man. But I
calculate that I may ensnare him precisely by doing noth-
ing. For overthrown he must be. And this is done most
safely by letting him do it himself, by letting him stumble
over himself. I have, at least at this moment, not sufficient
power to bring about his fall; in fact, I know no one who
has. To undertake the least thing against him now, means
to be crushed one's self. No, my plan is constantly to exert
only negative resistance to him, that is, to do nothing, and
he will probably involve himself in the enormous conse-
quences he draws after him, till in the end he will tread on
his own train, as it were, and thus fall."

And the steady citizen would reason as follows (which
would then become the opinion of his family) : "Now, let
us be human, everything is good when done in moderation,
too little and too much spoil everything, and as a French
saying has it which I once heard a traveling salesman use :
every power which exceeds itself comes to a fall — and as to
this person, his fall is certainly sure enough, I have earn-
estly spoken to my son and warned and admonished him not
to drift into evil ways and join that person. And why?
Because all people are running after him. That is to say,
what sort of people? Idlers and loafers, street-walkers and
tramps, who run after everything. But mightly few of the
men who have house and property, and nobody who is wise
and respected, none after whom I set my clock, neither
councillor Johnson, nor senator Anderson, nor the wealthy
broker Nelson — oh no ! they know what's what. And as to
the ministry who ought to know most about such matters —
ah, they will have none of him. What was it pastor Green
said in the club the other evening? That man will yet come
to a terrible end,' he said. And Green, he can do more than
preach, you oughtn't to hear him Sundays in church so much
as Mondays in the club — I just wished I had half his knowl-
edge of affairs! He said quite correctly, and as if spoken
out of my own heart : 'Only idlers and loafers are running
after that man.' And why do they run after him? Be-
cause he performs some miracles. But who is sure they are

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 195

miracles, or that he can confer the same power on his dis-
ciples? And, in any case, a miracle is somethng mightly
uncertain, whereas the certain is the certain. Every se-
rious father who has grown-up children must be truly
alarmed lest his sons be seduced and join that man together
with the desperate characters who follow him — desperate
characters who have nothing to lose. And even these, how
does he help them? Why, one must be mad to wish to be
helped in this fashion. Even the poorest beggar is brought
to a worse estate than his former one, is brought to a pass
he could have escaped by remaining what he was, that is,
a beggar and no more."

And the mocker, not the one hated on account of his
malice, but the one who is admired for his wit and liked for
his good nature, he would reason as follows: "It is, after
all, a rich idea which is going to prove useful to all of us,
that an individual who is in no wise different from us claims
to be God. If that is not being a benefactor of the race then
I don't know what charity and beneficence are. If we as-
sume that the characteristic of being God — well, who in all
the world would have hit on that idea ? How true that such
an idea could not have entered into the heart of man^' — but
if we assume that it consists in looking in no wise different
from the rest of us, and in nothing else : why, then we are
all gods. Q. E. D. Three cheers for him, the inventor of
a discovery so extraordinarily important for mankind ! To-
morrow I, the undersigned, shall proclaim that I am God,
and the discoverer at least will not be able to contradict me
without contradicting himself. At night all cats are gray ;
and if to be God consists in looking like the rest of us, abso-
lutely and altogether like the rest of mankind: why, then
it is night and we all are . . ., or what is it 1 wanted to say:
we all are God, every one of us, and no one has a right to
say he isn't as well off as his neighbor. This is the most
ridiculous situation imaginable, the contradiction here being
the greatest imaginable, and a contradiction always making
for a comical effect. But this is in no wise my discovery,
but solely that of the discoverer: this idea that a man of
exactly the same appearance as the rest of us, only not half

I'Cf. 1 Cor. 2, 9.

196 University of Texas Bulletin

so well dressed as the average man, that is, a poorly dressed
person who, rather than being God, seems to invite the at-
tention of the society for the relief of the poor — that he is
God ! I am only sorry for the director of the charitable
society that he will not get a raise from this general ad-
vancement of the human race but that he will, rather, lose
his job on account of this, etc."

Ah, my friend, I know well what I am doing, I know my
responsibility, and my soul is altogether assured of the cor-
rectness of my procedure. Now then, imagine yourself a
contemporary of him who invites. Imagine yourself to be
a sufferer, but consider well to what you expose yourself
in becoming his disciple and following him. You expose
yourself to losing practically everything in the eyes of all
wise and sensible and respected men. He who invites de-
mands of you that you surrender all, give up everything;
but the common sense of your own times and of your con-
temporaries will not give you up, but will judge that to join
him is madness. And mockery will descend cruelly upon
you ; for while it will almost spare him, out of compassion,
you will be thought madder than a march-hare for becoming
his disciple. People will say : "That h e is a wrong-headed
enthusiast, that can't be helped. Well and good ; but to be-
come— in all seriousness — his disciple, that is the greatest
piece of madness imaginable. There surely is but one pos-
sibility of being madder than a madman, which is the higher
madness of joining a madman in all seriousness and regard-
ing him as a sage."

Do not say that the whole presentation above is exagger-
ated. Ah, you know (but, possibly, have not fully realized
it) that among all the respectable men, among all the en-
lightened and sensible men, there was but one — though it is
easily possible that one or the other of them, impelled by
curiosity, entered into conversation with him — that there
was but one among them who sought him in all seriousness.'^
And he came to him — in the night! And as you know, in
the night one walks on forbidden paths, one chooses the
night to go to places of which one does not like to be known
as a frequenter. Consider the opinion of the inviter implied

"John 3, If.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 197

in this — it was a disgrace to visit him, something no man of
honor could afford to do, as little as to pay a nightly visit
to — but no, I do not care to say in so many words what
would follow this "as little as."

Come hither to me now all ye that labor and
are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

THE SECOND PHASE OF HIS LIFE

His end was what all the wise and the sensible, the states-
men and the citizens and the mockers, etc., predicted it
would be. And as was later spoken to him. in a jnoment
when, it would seem, the most hardened ought to have been
moved to sympathy, and the very stones to tears : "He saved
others; let him save himself,"'-' and as it has been repeated
thousands upon thousands of times, by thousands upon
thousands: "What was it he spoke of before, saying his
hour was not yet come-" — is it come now, perchance?" —
It has been repeated, alas, the while the single individual,
the believer, shudders whenever considering — while yet un-
able to refrain from gazing into the depth of what to men
is a meaningless absurdity — shudders when considering that
God in human guise, that his divine teaching, that these
signs and wonders which might have made a very Sodom
and Gomorrha reform its ways, in reality produced the ex-
act opposite, and caused the teacher to be shunned, hated,
despised.

WTio he is, one can recognize more easily now when the
powerful ones and the respected ones, and all the precau-
tionary measures of those upholding the existing order, have
corrected any wrong conception one might have entertained
about him at first — now when the people have lost their pa-
tience to wait for a Messiah, seeing that his life, instead
of rising in dignity, lapsed into ever greater degradation.
Who, pray, does not recognize that a man is judged accord-
ing to the society in which he moves — ^and now, think of
his society! Indeed, his society one might well designate

i^Luke 23, 35.
-"'John 2, 4, etc.

198 University of Texas Bulletin

as equivalent to being expelled from "human society" ; for
his society are the lowest classes of the people, with sinners
and publicans among them, people whom everybody with
the slightest self-respect shuns for the sake of his good
name and reputation — and a good name and reputation
surely are about the least one can wish to preserve. In his
company there are, furthermore, lepers whom every one
flees, madmen who can only inspire terror, invalids and
wretches — squalor and misery. Who, then, is this person
that, though followed by such a company, still is the object
of the persecution of the mighty ones? He is one despised
as a seducer of men, an impostor, a blasphemer! And if
any one enjoying a good reputation refrains from express-
ing contempt of him, it is really only a kind of compassion ;
for to fear him is, to be sure, something different.

Such, then, is his appearance ; for take care not to be in-
fluenced by anything that you may have learned after the
event — as, how his exalted spirit, with an almost divine maj-
esty, never was so m.arkedly manifest as just them. Ah,
my friend, if you were the contemporary of one who is not
only himself "excluded from the synagogue" but, as you
will remember, whose very help meant being "excluded from
the synagogue" — I say, if you were the contemporary of an
outcast, who in every respect answers to that term, (for
everything has two sides) : then you will scarcely be the
man to explain all this in terms directly contrary to appear-
ances;-^ or, which is the same thing, you will not be the
"single individual" which, as you well know, no one wants to
be, and to be which is regarded as a ridiculous oddity, per-
haps even as a crime.

And now — for they are his society chiefly — as to his apos-
tles! What absurdity; though not — what new absurdity,
for it is quite in keeping with the rest — his apostles are
some fishermen, ignorant people who but the other day fol-
lowed their trade. And tomorrow, to pile one absurdity on
the other, they are to go out into the wide world and trans-

^^The passage is not quite clear. Probably, you will not be the
man to explain this phenomenon in the very opposite terms, viz., as
the divinity himself.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 199

form its aspect. And it is he who claims to be God, and
these are his duly appointed apostles! Now, is he to make
his apostles respected, or are perhaps the apostles to make
him respected? Is he, the inviter, is he an absurd dreamer?
Indeed, his procession would make it seem so ; no poef could
have hit on a better idea. A teacher, a sage, or whatever
you please to call him, a kind of stranded genius, who affirms
himself to be God — surrounded by a jubilant mob, himself
accompanied by some publicans, criminals, and lepers ; near-
est to him a chosen few, his apostles. And these judges so
excellently competent as to what truth is, these fishermen,
tailors, and shoe-makers, they do not only admire him, their
teacher and master, whose every word is wisdom and truth :
they do not only see what no one else can see, his exaltedness
and holiness, nay, but they see God in him and worship
him. Certainly, no poet could invent a better situation, and
it is doubtful if the poet would not forget the additional item
that this same person is feared by the mighty ones and that
they are scheming to destroy him. His death alone can
reassure and satisfy them. They have set an ignominious
punishment on joining his company, on merely accepting aid
from him ; and yet they do not feel secure, and cannot feel
altogether reassured that the whole thing is mere wrong-
headed enthusiasm and absurdity. Thus the mighty ones.
The populace who had idolized him, the populace have pretty
nearly given him up, only in moments does their old concep-
tion of him blaze forth again. In all his existence there is
not a shred the most envious of the envious might envy him
to have. Nor do the mighty ones envy his life. They de-
mand his death for safety's sake, so that they may have
peace again, when all has returned to the accustomed ways,
peace having been made still more secure by the warning
example of his death.

These are the two phases of his life. It began with the
people's idolizing him, whereas all who were identified with
the existing order of things, all who had power and influ-
ence, vengef ully, but in a cowardly and hidden manner, laid

200 University of Texas Bulletin

their snares for him — in which he was caught, then? Yes,
but he perceived it well. Finally the people discover that
they had been deceived in him, that the fulfilment he would
bring them answered least of all to their expectations of
wonders and mountains of gold. So the people deserted
him and the mighty ones drew the snare about him — in
which he was caught, then? Yes, but he perceived it well.
The mighty ones drew the snare together about him — and
thereupon the people, who then saw themselves completely
deceived, turned against him in hatred and rage.

And — to include that too — compassion would say ; or,
among the compassionate ones — for compassion is sociable,
and likes to assemble together, and you will find spitefulness
and envy keeping company with whining sof t-headedness :
since, as a heathen philosopher observed long ago, no one is
so ready to sympathize as an envious person — among the
compassionate ones the verdict would be : it is really too bad
that this good-hearted fellow is to come to such an end.
For he was really a good sort of fellow. Granting it was an
exaggeration to claim to be God, he really was good to the
poor and the needy, even if in an odd manner, by becoming
one of them and going about in the company of beggars.
But there is something touching in it all, and one can't help
but feel sorry for the poor fellow who is to suffer such a
miserable death. For you may say what you will, and con-
demn him as strongly as you will, I cannot help feeling
pity for him. I am not so heard-hearted as not to feel com-
passion."

We have arrived at the last phase, not of Sacred History,
as handed down by the apostles and disciples who believed
in Christ, but of profane history, its counterpart.

Come hither now, all ye that labor and are heavy laden ;
that is, if you feel the need, even if you are of all sufferers
the most miserable — if you feel the need of being helped in
this fashion, that is, to fall into still greater suffering, then
come hither, he will help you.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 201
III

THE INVITATION AND THE INVITER

Let us forget for a little while what,
in the strictest sense, constitutes the
"offense"; which is, that the inviter
claims to be God. Let us assume that
he did not claim to be more than a man,
and let us then consider the inviter
and his invitation.

The invitation is surely inviting enough. How, then, shall
one explain the bad relation which did exist, this terribly
wrong relation, that no one, or practically no one, accepted
the invitation ; that, on the contrary, all, or practically all —
alas! and was it not precisely all who were invited? — that
practically all were at one in offering resistance to the in-
viter. in wishing to put him to death, and in setting
a punishment on accepting aid from him? Should one not
expect that after an invitation such as he issued all, all who
suffered, would come crowding to him, and that all they who
were not suffering would crowd to him, touched by the
thought of such compassion and mercy, and that thus the
whole race would be at one in admiring and extolling the
inviter? How is the opposite to be explained? For that
this was the outcome is certain enough ; and the fact that it
all happened in those remote times is surely no proof that
the generation then living was worse than other genera-
tions! How could any one be so thoughtless as to believe
that? For whoever gives any thought to the matter will
easily see that it happened in that generation only^ because
they chanced to be contemporaneous with him. How then
explain that it happened — that all came to that terribly
wrong end, so opposite to what ought to have been expected ?

Well, in the first place, if the inviter had looked the figure
which purely human compassion w^ould have him be; and,
in the second place, if he had entertained the purely human

202 University of Texas Bulletin

conception of what constitutes man's misery — why, then it
would probably not have happened.

In the first place: According to this human
conception of him he should have been a most generous and
sympathetic person, and at the same time possessed of all
qualifications requisite for being able to help in all troubles
of this world, ennobling the help thus extended by a pro-
found and heartfelt human compassion. Withal (so they
would imagine him) he should also have been a man of
some distinction and not without a certain amount of human
self-assertion — ^the consequence of which would be, however,
that he would neither have been able, in his compassion,
to reach down to all sufferers, nor yet to have comprehended
fully what constitutes the misery of man and of mankind.

But divine compassion, the infinite unconcern which
takes thought only of those that suffer, and not in the least
of one's self, and which with absolute unconcern takes
thought of a 1 1 that suffer : that will always seem to men
only a kind of madness, and they will ever be puzzled
whether to laugh or to weep about it. Even if nothing else
had militated against the inviter, this alone would have been
sufficient to make his lot hard in the world.

Let a man but try a little while to practice divine compas-
sion, that is, to be somewhat unconcerned in his compassion,
and you will at once perceive what the opinion of mankind
would be. For example: let one who could occupy some
higher rank in society, let him not (preserving all the while
the distinction of his position) lavishly give to the poor, and
philanthropically (i.e. in a superior fashion) visit the poor
and the sick and the wretched — no, let him give up alto-
gether the distinction of his position and in all earnest
choose the company of the poor and the lowly, let him live
altogether with the people, with workmen, hodmen, mortar-
mixers, and the like ! Ah, in a quiet moment, when not actu-
ally beholding him, most of us will be moved to tears by
the mere thought of it ; but no sooner would they see him
in this company — him who might have attained to honor and
dignity in the world — see him walking along in such goodly
company, with a bricklayer's apprentice on his right side

Selections from the WHtings of Kierkegcuird 203

and a cobbler's boy on his left, but — well, what then? First
they would devise a thousand explanations to explain that it
is because of queer notions, or obstinacy, or pride, or vanity
that he chooses this mode of life. And even if they would
refrain from attributing to him these evil motives they will
never be reconciled with the sight of him — in this company.
The noblest person in the world will be tempted to laugh,
the moment he s e e s it.

And if all the clergymen in the world, whether in velvet
or in silk or in broadcloth or in satin, contradicted me I
would say : "You lie, you only deceive people with your Sun-
day sermons. Because it will always be possible for a con-
temporary to say about one so compassionate (who, it is
to be kept in mind, is our contemporary) : "I believe he is
actuated by vanity, and that is why I laugh and mock at
him; but if he were truly compassionate, or had I been
contemporary with him, the noble one — why then!" And
now, as to those exalted ones "who were not understood
by men" — to speak in the fashion of the usual run of ser-
mons— why, sure enough, they are dead. In this fashion
these people succeed in playing hide and seek. You simply
assume that every contemporary who ventures out so far
is actuated only by vanity; and as to the departed, you as-
sume that they are dead and that they, therefore, were
among the glorious ones.

It must be remembered, to be sure, that every person
wishes to maintain his own level in lif6, and this fixed point,
this steady endeavor, is one of the causes which limit
human compassion to a certain sphere. The cheese-
monger will think that to live like the inmate of a poorhouse
is going too far in expressing one's sympathy ; for the sym-
pathy of the cheese-monger is biased in one regard which is.
his regard of the opinion of other cheese-mongers and of the
saloon-keepers. His compassion is therefore not without
its limitations. And thus with every class — and the jour-
nalists, living as they do on the pennies of the poor, under
the pretense of asserting and defending their rights, they
would be the first to heap ridicule on this unlimited com-
passion.

204 University of Texas Bulletin

To identify one's self wholly and lit-
erally with him who is most miserable
(and this, only this, is divine compassion), that is to
men the "too much" by which one is moved to tears, in a
quiet Sunday hour, and about which one unconsciously bursts
into laughter when one sees it in reality. The fact is, it
is too exalted a sight for daily use ; one must have it at some
distance to be able to support it. Men are not so familiar
with exalted virtue to believe it at once. The contradiction
seen here is, therefore, that this exalted virtue manifests
itself in — reality, in daily life, quite literally the daily life.
When the poet or the orator illustrates this exalted virtue,
that is, pictures it in a poetical distance from real life, men
are moved; but to see this exalted virtue in reality, the
reality of daily life, here in Copenhagen, on the Market
Square, in the midst of busy every-day life — ! And when
the poet or the orator does touch people it is only for a short
time, and just so long are men able to believe, almost, in
this exalted virtue. But to see it in real life every
d a y — ! To be sure, there is an enormous contradiction in
the statement that the most exalted of all has become the
most every-day occurrence!

Insofar, then, it was certain in advance what would be
the inviter's fate, even if nothing else had contributed to his
doom. The absolute,-- or all which makes for an absolute
standard, becomes by that very fact the victim. For men
are willing enough to practice sympathy and self-denial,
are willing enough to strive for wisdom, etc. ; but they wish
themselves to determine the standard and to have that read :
"to a certain degree." They do not wish to do away with
all these splendid virtues. On the contrary, they want —
at a bargain and in all comfort — to have the appearance and
the name of practicing them. Truly divine compassion is
therefore necessarily the victim so soon as it shows itself
in this world. It descends on earth out of compassion for
mankind, and yet it is mankind who trample upon it. Ana
whilst it is wandering about among them, scarcely even the

'-'^'Here, the unreserved identification with human suffering above
referred to.

Selectiotis from the Writings of Kierkegaard 205

sufferer dares to flee to it, for fear of mankind. The fact
is, it is most important for the world to keep up the appear-
ance of being compassionate ; but this it made out by divine
compassion to be a falsehood — and therefore: away with
divine compassion!

But now the inviter represented precisely this divine com-
passion— and therefore he was sacrificed, and therefore even
those that suffered fled from him; for they comprehended
(and, humanly speaking, very exactly) , what is true of most
human infirmities, that one is better off to remain what
one is than to be helped by him.

In the second place: the inviter likewise had an
other, and altogether different, conception than the purely
human one as to what constitutes man's misery. And in
this sense only he was intent on helping; for he had with
him neither money, nor medicine, nor anything else of th
kind.

Indeed, the inviter's appearance is so altogether differ-
ent from what human compassion wold imagine it that he
is a downright offense to men. In a purely human sense
there is something positively cruel — something outrageous,
something so exasperating as to make one wish to kill that
person — in the fact of his inviting to him the poor and the
sick and the suffering, and then not being able to do any-
thing for them, except to promise them remission of their
sins. '"Let us be human, man is no spirit. And when a
person is about to die of starvation and you say to him:
I promise you the gracious remission of your sins — that is
revolting cruelty. In fact it is ridiculous, though too se-
rious a matter to laugh about."

Well (for in quoting these sentiments I wish merely to
let offended man discover the contradiction and exaggerate
it — it is not I who wish to exaggerate), well then, the real
intention of the inviter was to point out that sin i s t h e
destruction of mankind. Behold now, that makes
room, as the invitation also made room, almost as if he had
said procul, o procul este profani, or as if, even though he
had not said it, a voice had been heard which thus interpret-
ed the "come hither" of the invitation. There surelv are not

206 University of Texas Bulletin

many sufferers who will follow the invitation. And even
if there were one who, although aware that from this in-
viter no actual wordly help was to be expected, never-
theless had sought refuge with him, touched by his com-
passion: now even he will flee from him. For is it not al-
most a bit of sharp practice to profess to be here out of
compassion, and then to speak about sin?

Indeed, it is a piece of cunning, unless you are altogether
certain that you are a sinner. If it is tooth-ache which
bothers you, or if your house is burned to the ground, but
if it has escaped you that you are a sinner — why, then it was
cunning on his part. It is a bit of sharp practice of him to
assert : "I heal all manner of disease," in order to say, when
one approaches him : "the fact is, I recognize only one dis-
ease, which is sin — of that I shall cure all them 'that labor
and are heavy laden,' all them that labor to work themselves
free of the power of sin, that labor to resist the evil, and to
vanquish their weakness, but succeed only in being laden."
Of this malady he cures "all" persons; even if there were
but a single one who turned to him because of this malady :
he heals all persons. But to come to him on account of any
other disease, and only because of that, is about as useful
as to look up an eye-doctor when you have fractured your
leg.

CHRISTIANITY AS THE ABSOLUTE; CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS
WITH CHRIST

With its invitation to all "that labor and are heavy laden"
Christianity has entered the world, not — as the clergy
whimperingly and falsely introduce it — as a shining para-
gon of mild grounds of consolation; but as the absolute.
God wills it so because of His love, but it is God who
wills it, and He wills it as He wills it. He does not choose
to have His nature changed by man and become a nice, that
is to say, humane, God ; but He chooses to change the nature
of man because of His love for them. Neither does He
care to hear any human impertinence concerning the why
and wherefore of Christianity, and why it entered the world :

Selections from the WHtings of Kierkegaard 207

it is, and is to be, the absolute. Therefore all the relative
explanations which may have been ventured as to its why
and wherefore are entirely beside the point. Possibly, these
explanations were suggested by a kind of human compas-
sion which believes it necessary to haggle a bit — God very
likely does not know the nature of man very well, His de-
mands are a bit exorbitant, and therefore the clergymen
must haggle and beat Him down a bit.-" IVIaybe the clergj''
hit upon that idea in order to stand well with men and reap
some advantage from preaching the gospel; for if its de-
mands are reduced to the purely human, to the demands
which arise in man's heart, why, then men will of course
think well of it, and of course also of the amiable preacher
who knows how to make Christianity so mild — if the Apos-
tles had been able to do that the world would have esteemed
them highly also in their time. However, all this is the
absolute. But what is it good for, then — is it not a dowTi-
right torment ? Why, yes, you may say so : from the stand-
point of the relative, the absolute is the greatest torment.
In his dull, lanquid, sluggish moments, when man is dom-
inated by his sensual nature, Christianity is an absurdity
to him since it is not commensurable with any definite
"wherefore?" But of what use is it, then? Answer: peace!
it is the absolute. And thus it must be represented ;
that is, in a fashion which makes it appear as an absurdity
to the sensual nature of man. And therefore is it, ah, so
true and, in still another sense, so true when the worldly-
wise man who is contemporaneous with Christ condemns
him with the words : "he is literally nothin g" —
quite true, for he is the absolute. And, being absolute,
Christianity has come in the world, not as a consolation
in the human sense ; in fact, quite on the contrary, it is ever
reminding one how the Christian must suffer in order to
become, or to remain, a Christian — sufferings which he
may, if you please, escape by not electing to be a Christian.
There is, indeed, an unbridgeable gulf fixed between God
and man. It therefore became plain to those contemporary

2''Cf. note p. 178.

208 University of Texas Bulletin

with Christ that the process of becoming a Christian (that
is, being changed into the likeness of God) is, in a human
sense, a greater torment and wretchedness and pain than
the greatest conceivable human suffering, and moreover a
crime in the eyes of one's contemporaries. And thus will
it always be; that is, if becoming a Christian in reality
means becoming contemporaneous with Christ. And if be-
coming a Christian does not have that meaning, then all
your chatter about becoming a Christian is a vanity, a de-
lusion and a snare, and likewise a blasphemy and a sin
against the Holy Ghost.

For with regard to the absolute there is but one time,
viz. the present. He who is not contemporaneous with the
absolute, for him it does not exist at all. And since Christ
is the absolute, it is evident that in respect of him there
is but one situation : contemporaneousness. The three, or
seven, or fifteen, or seventeen, or eighteen hundred years
which have elapsed since his death do not make the least
difference, one way or the other. They neither change him
nor reveal, either, who he was; for his real nature is re-
vealed only to faith.

Christ, let me say so with the utmost seriousness, is not
an actor; neither is he a merely historical personage since,
being the paradox, he is an extremely unhistorical person-
age. But precisely this is the difference between poetry and
reality: contemporaneousness.-^ The difference between
poetry and history is no doubt this, that history is what has
really happened, and poetry, what is possible, the action
which is supposed to have taken place, the life which has
taken form in the poet's imagination. But that which really
happened (the past) is not necessarily reality, except in
a certain sense, viz., in contrast with poetry. There is still
lacking in it the criterion of truth (as inwardness) and of
all religion, there is still lacking the criterion : thetruth
FOR YOU. That which is past is not a reality — for me, but

^*As my friend, H. M. Jones, points out, the following passage is
essentially Aristotelian: "The true difference is that one (history)
relates what has happened, the other (poetry) what may happen";
"Poetics," Chap. IX.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 209

only my time is. That which you are contemporaneous
with, that is reality' — for you. Thus every person has the
choice to be contemporaneous with the age in which he is
living — and also with one other period, with that of Christ's
life here on earth; for Christ's life on earth, or Sacred
History, stands by itself, outside of history.

History you may read and hear about as a matter of the
past. Within its realm you can, if you so care, judge actions
by their results. But in Christ's life here on earth there is
nothing past. It did not wait for the assistance of any sub-
sequent results in its own time, 1800 years ago; neither
does it now. Historic Christianity is sheer moonshine and
un-Christian muddle-headedness. For those true Christians
who in every generation live a life contemporaneous with
that of Christ have nothing whatsoever to do with Chris-
tians of the preceding generation, but all the more with
their contemporary, Christ. His life here on earth attends
every generation, and every generation severally, as Sacred
History; his life on earth is eternal contemporaneousness.
For this reason all learned lecturing about Christianity,
which has its haunt and hiding-place in the assumption that
Christianity is something which belongs to the past and to
the 1800 years of history, this lecturing is the most un-
Christian of heresies, as every one would readily recognize
if he but tried to imagine the generation contemporeanous
with Christ as — lecturing ! No, we must ever keep in mind
that ever\' generation (of the faithful) is contemporaneous
with him. "^

If you cannot master yourself so as to make yourself con-
temporaneous with him and thus become a Christian ; or if
he cannot, as your contemporary', draw you to himself, then
you will never be a Christian. You may, if you please,
honor, praise, thank, and with all worldly goods reward,
him who deludes you into thinking that you are a Chris-
tian ; nevertheless — he deceives you. You may count your-
self happy that you were not contemporaneous with one who
dared to assert this ; or you may be exasperated to madness
by the torment, like that of the "gadfly,-^ of being contem-

-•"'Cf. Plato's "Apologia" where Socrates is made to say of himself
that he is inflicted on the Athenians like a gadfly on a horse, in order
to keep them awake.

210 University of Texas Bulletin

poraneous with one who says this to your face : in the first
case you are deceived, whereas in the second you have ai
least had a chance to hear the truth.

If you cannot bear this contemporaneousness, and not bear
to see this sight in reality — if you cannot prevail upon your-
self to go out into the street — and behold ! it is God in that
loathsome procession ; and if you cannot bear to think that
this will be your condition also if you kneel and worship
him : then you are not essentially a Christian. In
that case, what you will have to do is to admit the fact un-
conditionally to yourself, so that you may, above all, pre-
serve humility, and fear and trembling, when contemplat-
ing what it means really to be a Christian. For that way
you must proceed, in order to learn and to practice how
to flee to grace, so that you will not seek it in vain; but
do not, for God's sake, go to any one to be "consoled."
For to be sure it is written : "blessed are the eyes which see
the things that ye see,"-" which word the priests have on
the tips of their tongues — curiously enough; at times, per-
haps, even to defend a worldly finery which, if contem-
porary with Christ, would be rather incongruous-— as if
these words had not been said solely about those con-
temporaries of his who believed. If his exaltation had been
evident to the eyes so that every one without any trouble
could have beheld it, why then it would be incorrect to say
that Christ abased himself and assumed the guise of a ser-
vant, and it would be superflous to warn against being of-
fended in him ; for why in the world should one take offense
in an exalted one arrayed in glory? And how in the world
will you explain it that Christ fared so ill and that every-
body failed to rush up admiringly to behold what was so
plain? Ah no, "he hath no form nor comeliness; and when
we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire
him" (Isaiah 53, 2*); and there was to all appear-
ances nothing remarkable about him who in lowly guise,
and by performing signs and wonders, constantly presented
the possibility of offense, who claimed to be God — in lowly

^«Luke 10, 23.

* Kierkegaard's own note.

Selections from the WHtings of Kierkegaard 211

guise; which therefore expresses: in the first place, what
God means by compassion, and by one's self needing to be
humble and poor if one wishes to be compassionate ; and in
the second place, what God means by the misery of man-
kind. Which, again, in both instances is extremely differ-
ent from what men mean by these things and which every
generation, to the end of time, has to learn over again from
the beginning, and beginning in every respect at the same
point where those who were contemporary with Christ had
to start ; that is, to practice these things as contemporaries
of Christ. Human impatience and unruliness is, of course,
of no avail whatsoever. No man will be able to tell you in
how far you may succeed in becoming essentially a Chris-
tian. But neither will anxiety and fear and despair help
one. Sincerity toward God is the first and the last condi-
tion, sincerity in confessing to one's self just where one
stands, sincerity before God in ever aiming at one's task.
However slowly one may proceed, and if it be but crawl-
ing— one is, at any rate, in the right position and is not
misled and deceived by the trick of changing the nature of
Christ who, instead of being God, is thereby made to rep-
resent that sentimental compassion which is man's own
invention ; by which men, instead of being lifted up to
heaven by Christianity, are delayed on their way and re-
main human and no more.

THE MORAL

"And what, then, does all this signify?" It signifies that
every one, in silent inwardness before God, is to feel humil-
ity before what it means to be in the strictest sense a Chris-
tian ; is to confess sincerely before God what his position is,
so that he may worthily partake of the grace which is of-
fered to every one who is not perfect, that is, to every one.
And it means no more than that. For the rest let him at-
tend to his work and find joy in it, let him love his wife.

212 University of Texas Bulletin

rejoicing in her, let him raise his children to be a joy to
him, and let him love his fellow-men and enjoy life. God
will surely let him know if more is demanded of him, and
will also help him to accomplish it; for in the terrifying
language of the law this sounds so terrible because it would
seem as if man by his own strength were to hold fast to
Christ, whereas in the language of love it is Christ that
holds fast to him. As was said, then, God will surely let
him know if mpre is demanded of h i m. But what is de-
manded of every one is that he humble himself in the pres-
ence of God under the demands of ideality. And there-
fore these demands should be heard, and heard again and
again in all their absoluteness. To be a Christian has be-
come a matter of no importance whatever — a mummery,
something one is anyway, or something one acquires more
readily than a trick. In very truth, it is high time that the
demands of ideality were heard.

"But if being a Christian is something so terrifying and
awesome, how in all the world can a man get it into his
head to wish to accept Christianity?" Very simply and,
if you so wish, quite according to Luther: only the con-
sciousness of sin, if I may express myself so, can force one
— from the other side, grace exerts the attraction — can force
one into this terror. And in the same instant the Chris-
tian ideal is transformed, and is sheer mildness, grace, love,
and pity. Looking at it any other way, however, Chris-
tianity is, and shall ever be, the greatest absurdity, or else
the greatest terror. Approach is had only through the con-
sciousness of sin, and to desire to enter by any other way
amounts to a crime of lese-majeste against Christianity.

But sin, or the fact that you and I, individually, are sin-
ners, has at present either been done away with, or else
the demands have been lowered in an unjustifiable manner,
both in life — the domestic, the civic, as well as the ecclesi-
astic— and in science which has invented the new doc-
trine of sin in general. As an equivalant, one has hit
upon the device of helping men into Christianity, and keep-
ing them in it, by the aid of a knowledge of world-historic
events, of that mild teaching, the exalted and profound

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 213

spirit of it, about Christ as a friend, etc., etc. — all of which
Luther would have called stuff and nonsense and which is
really blasphemy, aiming as it does at fraternizing impu-
dently with God and with Christ.

Only the consciousness of being a sinner can inspire one
with absolute respect for Christianity. And just because
Christianity demands absolute respect it must and shall,
to any other way of looking at it, seem absurdity or terror ;
just because only thereby can the qualitative and absolute
emphasis fall on the fact that it is only the consciousness
of being a sinner which will procure entrance into it, and
at the same time give the vision which, being absolute re-
spect, enables one to see the mildness and love and compas-
sion of Christianity.

The poor in spirit who acknowledge themselves to be
sinners, they do not need to know the least thing about the
difficulties which appear when one is neither simple nor
humble-minded. But when this humble consciousness of
one's self, i. e., the individual's, being a sinner is lacking —
aye, even though one possessed all human ingenuity and
wisdom, and had all accomplishments possible to man: it
will profit him little. Christianity will in the same degree
rise terrifying before him and transform itself into absurd-
ity or terror ; until he learns, either to renounce it, or else,
by the help of what is nothing less than scientific propaedeu-
tics, apologetics, etc., that is, through the torments of a
contrite heart, to enter into Christianity by the narrow
path, through the consciousness of sin.

THE PRESENT MOMENT^

BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION
(No. I, 1)

Plato says somewhere in his "Republic" that things will
go well only when those men shall govern the state who do
not desire to govern. The idea is probably that, assuming
the necessary capability, a man's reluctance to govern af-
fords a good guarantee that he will govern well and effi-
ciently; whereas a man desirous of governing may very
easily either abuse his power and become a tyrant, or by
his desire to govern be brought into an unforeseen situation
of dependence on the people he is to rule, so that his govern-
ment really becomes an illusion.

This observation applies also to other relations where
much depends on taking things seriously: assuming there
is ability in a man, it is best that he show reluctance to
meddle with them. To be sure, as the proverb has it:
"where there is a will there is a way" ; but true seriousness
appears only when a man fully equal to his task is forced,
against his will, to undertake it — against his will, but fully
equal to the task.

In this sense I may say of myself that I bear a correct
relation to the task in hand: to work in the present mo-
ment; for God knows that nothing is more distasteful to
me.

Authorship — well, I confess that I find it pleasant; and
I may as well admit that I have dearly loved to write —
in the manner, to be sure, which suits me. And what I
have loved to do is precisely the opposite of working in the
present moment. What I have loved is precisely remote-
ness from the present moment — that remoteness in which,
like a lover, I may dwell on my thoughts and, like an artist
in love with his instrument, entertain myself with language
and lure from it the expressions demanded by my thoughts

^ Selections.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 215

— ah blissful entertainment! In an eternity I should not
weary of this occupation.

To contend with men — well, I do like it in a certain sense ;
for I have by nature a temperament so polemic that I feel
in my element only when surrounded by men's mediocrity
and meanness. But only on one condition, viz., that I be
permitted to scorn them in silence and to satisfy the master
passion of my soul: scorn — opportunity for which my ca-
reer as an author has often enough given me.

I am therefore a man of whom it may be said truthfully
that he is not in the least desirous to work in the present
moment — very probably I have been called to do so for that
very reason.

Now that I am to work in the present moment I must,
alas ! say farewell to thee, beloved remoteness, where there
was no necessity to hurry, but always plenty of time, where
I could wait for hours and days and weeks for the proper
expression to occur to me ; whereas now I must break with
all such regards of tender love. -And now that I am to
work in the present moment I find that there will be not a
few persons whom I must oblige by paying my respects to
all the insignificant things which mediocrity with great
self-importance will lecture about ; to all the nonsense which
mediocre people, by interpreting into my words their own
mediocrity, will find in all I shall write; and to all the lies
and calumnies to which a man is exposed against whom
those two great powers in society : envy and stupidity, must
of necessity conspire.

Why, then, do I wish to work in the present moment?
Because I should forever repent of not having done so, and
forever repent of having beeil discouraged by the consid-
eration that the generation now living would find a repre-
sentation of the essential truths of Christianity interesting
and curious reading, at most; having accomplished which
they will calmly remain where they are; that is, in the
illusion that they are Christians and that the clergy's toy-
ing with Christianity really is Christianity.

^The following sentence is not clear in the original.

216 University of Texas Bulletin

A PANEGYRIC ON THE HUMAN RACE
OR
- PROOF THAT THE NEW TESTAMENT IS NO LONGER TRUE

(No. II, 5)

In the New Testament the Savior of the World, our Lord
Jesus Christ, represents the matter in this way: "Strait is
the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life,
and few there be that find it.^"

— now, however, just to confine ourselves to Denmark, the
way is as broad as a road can possibly be ; in fact, the broad-
est in Denmark, for it is the road we all travel. At the
same time it is in all respects a comfortable way, and the
gate as wide as it is possible for a gate to be ; for certainly
a gate cannot be wider than to let all men pass through
en masse:

therefore, the New Testament is no longer true.

All credit is due to the human race ! For thou, oh Savior
of the World, thou didst entertain too low an estimaite of
the human race, so that thou didst not foresee the exalted
plan which, in its perfectibility, it may reach by steadily
continued endeavor!

To such an extent, then, is the New Testament no longer
true: the way is the broadest possible, the gate the widest
possible, and we are all Christians. In fact, I may venture
still further — I am enthusiastic about it, for you see I am
writing a panegyric on the human race — I venture to as-
sert that the average Jew living among us is, to a certain
degree, a Christian just as well as we others : to such an
extent are we all Christians, and to such an extent is the
New Testament no longer true.

And, since the point is to find out all which may be ad-
duced to extol the human race, one ought — while having a
care not to mention anything which is not true — one ought
to watch that nothing, nothing escape one which in this
connection may serve as a proof or even as a suggestion.
So I venture still further — without wishing to be too posi-
tive, as I lack definite information on this subject and

"Matthew 7, 14.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 217

would like, therefore, to refer the matter to specialists in
this line to decide — : whether there are not present among
our domestic animals, or at any rate the nobler ones, such
as the horse, the dog, and the cow, indications of a Christian
spirit. It is not improbable. Consider what it means to
live in a Christian state, among a Christian people, where
everything is Christian and everybody is a Christian and
where one, turn where one may, sees nothing but Christians
and Christianity, truth and martyrs for the truth — it is not
at all unlikely that this exerts an influence on the nobler*
domestic animals and thereby again — which is ever of the
utmost importance, according to the opinion both of vet-
erinarians and of clergjnnen — an influence on their pro-
geny. We have all read of Jacob's ruse, how in order to
obtain spotted lambs he put party-colored twigs into the
watering troughs, so that the ewes saw nothing but mottled
things and then brought forth spotted lambs. Hence it is
not improbable — although I do not wish to be positive, since
I do not belong to the profession, but would rather have
this passed on by a committee composed of both clergjTnen
and veterinarians — I say, it is not improbable that the re-
sult will finally be that the domestic animals living in a
Christian nation will produce a Christian progeny. The
thought almost takes away my breath. To be sure, in that
case the New Testament will to the greatest possible extent
have ceased to be true.

Ah, Thou Savior of the World, when Thou saidst with
great concern: "When the Son of man cometh, shall He
find Faith on the earth?"* — and when Thou didst bow Thy
head in death, then didst Thou least of all think that Thy
expectations were to be exceeded to such a degree, and that
the human race would in such a pretty and touching way
render the New Testament no longer true, and Th^' sig-
nificance almost doubtful; for such nice creatures certainly
also needed a Savior I^

*Luke 18, 8.

■'The last line of this piece of bloody irony is not clear in the orig-
inal (S. V. XIII, 128). It will make better sense if one substitutes
"da" for the first "de."

218 University of Texas Bulletin

IF WE ARE REALLY CHRISTIANS — THEN WHAT IS GOD?
(No. II, 8)

If it is not so — that all we mean bj^ being "Christians"
is a delusion — that all this machinery, with a State Church
and thousands of spiritual-worldly councillors of chancery,
etc., is a stupendous delusion which will not be of the least
help to us in the life everlasting but, on the contrary, will
be turned into an accusation against us — if this is not so;
for if it is, then let us, for the sake of life everlasting, get
rid of it, the sooner the better —

if it is not so, and if what we understand by being a
Christian really is to be a Christian : then what is God in
Heaven ?

He is the most ridiculous being that ever existed. His
Word is the most ridiculous book which has ever appeared ;
for to move heaven and earth, as He does in his Word, and
to threaten with hell and everlasting damnation — in order
to obtain as His result what we understand by being Chris-
tians (and our assumption was that we a r e true Chris-
tians)— well, now, has anything so ridiculous ever been
seen before? Imagine that a fellow with a loaded pistol
in his hand held up a person and said to him, "I shall shoot
you"; or imagine, what is still more terrible, that he said,
"I shall seize you and torture you to death in the most hor-
rible manner, if" — now watch, here's the point — "if you do
not render your life here on earth as profitable and as en-
joyable as you can": would not that be utterly ridiculous?
For to obtain that effect it certainly is not necessary to
threaten one with a loaded pistol and the most painful tor-
ture; in fact, it is possible that neither the loaded pistol
nor the most painful torture would be able to deter him
from making his life as comfortable as he can. And the
same is true when, by fear of eternal punishment (terrible
threat!), and by hope of eternal salvation, He wishes to
bring about — well, to make us what we a r e (for what
we call Christian is, as we have seen, really being Chris-
tian), to make us — well, to make us what we are; that is,
make men live as they please ; for to abstain from com-
mitting crimes is nothing but common prudence!

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 219

The most terrible blasphemy is the one of which "Chris-
tianity" is guilty, which is, to transform the God of the
Spirit into — a ridiculous piece of nonsense. And the stu-
pidest kind of worship, more stupid than any idolatry ever
was among the heathen, and more stupid than to worship
as a god some stone, or an ox, or an insect — more stupid
than anything, is to adore as god — a fool!

DIAGNOSIS

(No. IV, 1)

I

Every physician will admit that by the correct diagnosis
of a malady more than half the fight against it is won;
also, that if a correct diagnosis has not been made, all skill
and all care and attention will be of little avail.

The same is true with regard to religion.

We are agreed to let stand the claim that in "Christen-
dom" we are Christians, every one of us ; and then we have
laid and, perhaps, will lay, emphasis now on this, now on
that, side of the teachings of the Scriptures.

But the truth is: we are not only not Christians — no,
we are not even the heathen to whom Christianity may
be taught without misgivings, and what is worse, we are
prevented through a delusion, an enormous delusion (viz.
"Christendom," the Christian state, a Christian country,
a Christian world) from becoming Christians.

And then the suggestion is made to one to continue un-
touched and unchanged this delusion and, rather, to fur-
nish a new presentation of the teachings of Christ.*^

This has been suggested; and, in a certain sense, it is
altogether fitting. Just because one lives in a delusion
(not to speak even of being interested in keeping up the
delusion), one is bound to desire that which will feed the

^This suggestion had actually been made to Kierkegaard in the
course of his attacks on Martensen.

220 University of Texas Bulletin

malady — a common enough observation this — the sick man
desiring precisely those things which feed his malady.

Imagine a hospital. The patients are dying off like so
many flies. The methods are changed, now this way, now
that: of no avail! What may be the cause? The cause
lies in the building — the whole building is tainted. The
patients are put down as having died, the one of this, the
other of that, disease, but strictly speaking this is not true ;
for they all died from the taint which is in the building.

The same is true in religion. That religious conditions
are wretched, and that people in respect of their religion
are in a wretched condition, nothing is more certain. So
one ventures the opinion that if we could but have a new
hymn-book; and another, if we could but have a new serv-
ice-book; and a third, if we could but have a musical serv-
ice, etc., etc. — that then matters would mend.

In vain; for the fault lies in the edifice. The whole
ramshackle pile of a State Church which has not been
aired, spiritually speaking, in times out of mind — the air
in it has developed a taint. And therefore religious life
has become diseased or has died out; alas, for precisely
that which the worldly mind regards as health is, in a
Christian sense, disease — ^just as, vice versa, that which is
healthy in a Christian sense, is regarded as diseased from
a worldly point of view.

Then let the ramshackle pile collapse, get it out of the
way, close all these shops and booths which are the only
ones which are excepted from the strict Sunday regula-
tions, forbid this official double-dealing, put them out of
commission, and provide for them, for all these quacks : —
even though it is true that the royally attested physician
is the acceptable one, and he who is not so attested is a
quack: in Christianity it is just the reverse; that is, the
royally attested teacher is the quack, is a quack by the
very fact that he is royally attested — and let us worship
God again in simplicity, instead of making a fool of him

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 221

in splendid edifices; let us be in earnest again and stop
playing; for a Christianity preached by royal officials who
are payed and insured by the state and who use the police
against the others, such a Christianity bears about the same
relation to the Christianity of the New Testament as
swimming with the help of a cork-belt or a bladder does
to swimming alone — it is mere play.

Yes, let that come about. What Christianity needs is
not the stifling protection of the state — ah no, it needs
fresh air, it needs persecution and — the protection of God.
The state does only mischief in averting persecution and
surely is not the medium through which God's protection
can be conducted. Whatever you do, save Christianity
from the state, for with its protection it overlies Chris-
tianity like a fat woman overlying her child with her car-
cass, beside teaching Christianity' the most abominable
bad habits — as, e.g., to use the police force "and to call
that Christianity.

A person is growing thinner every day and is wasting
away. What may the trouble be? For surely he is not
suffering want! "No, sure enough," says the doctor, "that
is not the trouble. The trouble is precisely with his eat-
ing, with his eating in season and out of season, with his
eating without being hungry, with his using stimulants to
produce an appetite, and in this manner ruining his di-
gestion, so that he is wasting away as if he suffered want."

The same is true in religion. The worst of all is to
satisfy a craving which has not as yet made its appear-
ance, to anticipate it, or — worse still — by the help of stim-
ulants to produce something which looks like a craving,
which then is promptly satisfied. Ah, the shame of it!
And yet this is exacth' what is being done in religion where
people are in very truth fooled out of the real meaning of
life and helped to waste their lives. That is in very truth,
the effect of this whole machinerv of a state church and a

222 University of Texas Bulletin

thousand royal ofRcials who, under the pretense of being
spiritual guides for the people, trick them out of the high-
est thing in life, which is, the solicitude about one's self,
and the need which would surely of itself find a teacher
or minister after its own mind; whereas now the need —
and it is just the growth of this sense, of a need which
gives life its highest significance — whereas now this need
does not arise at all, but on the contrary is forestalled by
being satisfied long before it can arise. And this is the
way, they claim, this is the way to continue the work which
the Savior of Mankind did begin — stunting the human race
as they do. And why is this so? Because there happen
to be a thousand and one royal officials who have to support
their families by furnishing what is called — spiritual guid-
ance for men's souls !

THE CHRISTIANITY OF THE NEW TESTAMENT; THE CHRIS-

ITANITY OF "CHRISTENDOM"

(No. V, 4)

The intention of Christianity was : to change every-
thing.

The result, the Christianity of "Christendom" is: every-
thing, literally everything, remained as it had been, with
just the difference that to everything was affixed the at-
tribute "Christian" — and for the rest (strike up, fiddlers!)
we live in Heathendom — so merrily, so merrily the dance
goes around; or, rather, we live in a Heathendom made
more refined by the help of Life Everlasting and by help
of the thought that, after all, it is all Christian!

Try it, point to what you will, and you shall see that I
am right in my assertion.

If what Christianity demanded was chastity, then away
with brothels! But the change is that the brothels have
remained just as they did in Heathendom, and the propor-
tion of prostitutes remained the same, too; to be sure, they
became "Christian" brothels! A brothel-keeper is a
"Christian" brothel-keeper, he is a Christian as well as we

Selection.s from the Writiiigs of Kierkegaard 223

others. Exclude him from church membership? "Why,
for goodness sake," the clergyman will say, "what would
things come to if we excluded a single paying member?"
The brothel-keeper dies and gets a funeral oration with a
panegyric in proportion to the amount he pays. And after
having earned his money in a manner which, from a Chris-
tian point of view, is as filthy and base as can be (for,
from a Christian point of view it would be more honorable
if he had stolen it) the clergyman returns home. He is in
a hurry, for he is to go to church in order to deliver an
oration or, as Bishop Martensen would say, "bear witness."

But if Christianity demanded honesty and uprightness,
and doing away with this swindle, the change which really
came about was this: the swindling has remained just as
in Heathendom, "every one (every Christian) is a thief
in his own line"; only, the swindling has taken on the
predicate "Christian." So we now have "Christian" swind-
ling— and the "clergj^man" bestows his blessing on this
Christian community, this Christian state, in which one
cheats just as one did in Heathendom, at the same time that
one pays the "clergyman," that is, the biggest swindler of
them all, and thus cheats one's self into Christianity.

And if Christianity demanded seriousness in life and
doing away with the praise and approbation of vanity —
why, everything has remained as before, with just this dif-
ference that it has assumed the predicate "Christian." Thus
the trumpery business with decorations, titles, and rank,
etc. has become Christian — and the clergj^man (that most
indecent of all indecencies, that most ridiculous of all ridic-
ulous hodge-podges), he is as pleased as Punch to be dec-
orated himself — with the "cross." The cross? Why, cer-
tainly; for in the Christianity of "Christendom" has not
the cross become something like a child's hobby-horse and
tin-trumpet ?

And so with everything. There is implanted in man no
stronger instinct, after that of self-preservation, than the
instinct of reproduction ; for which reason Christianity
seeks to reduce its strength, teaching that it is better not to
marry ; "but if they cannot contain, let them marry ; for it
is better to marrv than to burn." But in Christendom

224 University of Texas Bulletin

the propogation of the race has become the serious business
of life and of Christianity ; and the clergyman — that quint-
essence of nonsense done up in long clothes — the clergy-
man, the teacher of Christianity, of the Christianity of the
New Testament, has his income adjusted to the fact that the
human race is active in propagating the race, and gets a
little something for each child!

As I said, look about you and you will find that every-
thing is as I told you: the change from Heathendom con-
sists in everything remaining unchanged but having as-
sumed the predicate "Christian."

MODERN RELIGIOUS GUARANTEES

(No. V, 8)

In times long, long past people looked at matters in this
fashion: it was demanded of him who would be a teacher
of Christianity that his life should be a guarantee for the
teachings he proclaimed.

This idea was abandoned long ago, the world having
become wiser and more serious. It has learned to set little
store by these illiberal and sickly notions of personal re-
sponsibility, having learned to look for purely objective
ends. The demand is made now of the teacher that his
life should guarantee that what he has to say is entertain-
ing and dramatic stuff, amusing, and purely objective.

Some examples. Suppose you wanted to speak about
Christianity, that is, the Christianity of the New Testa-
ment which expresses preference for the single state — and
suppose you yourself are unmarried : why, my dear man !
you ought not to speak on this subject, because your congre-
gation might think that you meant what you said and be-
come disquieted, or it might feel insulted that you thus, very
improperly, mixed in your own affairs. No, dear sir, it will
take a little longer before you are entitled to speak seriously
on this matter so as really to satisfy the congregation. Wait
till you have buried your first wife and are well along with
your second wife : then it will be time for you to stand be-
fore your congregation to preach and "bear witness" that

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 225

Christianity prefers the single state — then you will satisfy
them altogether; for your life will furnish the guarantee
that it is all tomfoolery and great fun, or that what you
say is — interesting. Indeed, how interesting! For just as,
to make it interesting, the husband must be unfaithful to
his wife and the wife to her husband, likewise truth be-
comes interesting, intensely interesting, only when one lets
one's self be carried awa\'^ by one's feelings, be fascinated
by them — but of course does the precise opposite and
thus in an underhand manner is re-assured in persisting in
one's ways.

Do you wish to speak about Christianity's teaching con-
tempt for titles and decorations and all the follies of fame —
and should you happen to be neither a person of rank nor
anything of the kind: Why, my dear sir! You ought not
to undertake to speak on this subject. Why, your congre-
gation might think you were in earnest, or feel insulted
by such a lack of tact in forcing your personality on their
notice. No, indeed, you ought to wait till you have a
lot of decorations, the more the merrier ; you ought to wait
till you drag along with a rigmarole of titles, so many that
you hardly know yourself what you are called : then is your
time come to stand before your congregation to preach and
"bear witness" — ^and you will undoubtedly satisfy them;
for your life will then furnish the guarantee that it is but
a dramatic divertisement, an interesting forenoon enter-
tainment.

Is it your intention to preach Christianity in poverty,
and insist that only thus it is taught in truth — and you
happen to be very literally a poor devil : Why, my dear sir !
You ought not to venture to speak on this subject. Why,
your congregation might think you were in earnest, they
might become afraid and lose their good humor, and they
might be very unpleasantly affected by thus having poverty
thrust in on them. No indeed, first get yourself some fat
living, and when you have had it so long that your promo-
tion to one still fatter is to be expected : then is your time
come to stand before your congregation and to preach and
"bear witness" — and you will satisfy them; for your life

226 University of Texas Bulletin

then furnishes the guarantee that it is just a joke, such as
serious men like to indulge in, now and then, in theatre or
in church, as a sort of recreation to gather new strength —
for making money.

And that is the way they honor God in the churches!
And then these silk and velvet orators weep, they sob,
their voice is drowned in tears! Ah, if it be true (and it
is, since God Himself has said so), if it be true that He
counts the tears of the afflicted and puts them into His
bottle, '^ then woe to these orators, if God has counted also
their Sunday tears and put them into His bottle ! And woe
to us all if God really heeds these Sunday tears — especially
those of the speakers, but also those of the listeners ! For
a Sunday preacher would indeed be right if he said — and,
oratorically, this would have a splendid effect, especially
if accompanied by his own tears and suppressed sobs — he
would be right if he said to his audience: I shall count all
the futile tears you have shed in church, and with them I
shall step accusingly before you on the Day of Judgment —
indeed, he is right ; only please not to forget that, after all,
the speaker's own dramatic tears are by far more dreadful
than the thoughtless tears of his listeners.

WHAT SAYS THE FIRE-MARSHAL

(No. VI, 5)

That a man who in some fashion or other has what one
calls a "cause," something he seriously purposes to accom-
plish— and there are other persons who make it their busi-
ness to counteract, and antagonize, and hurt him — that he
must take measures against these his enemies, this will be
evident to every one. But that there is a well-intentioned
kindness by far more dangerous, perhaps, and one that
seems calculated to prevent the serious accomplishment of
his mission, this will not at once be clear to every one.

When a person suddenly falls ill, kindly-intentioned folk

'^ Allusion to Psalm 56, 9; also, to a passage in one of Bishop
Mynster's sermons (S. V.).

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 227

will straightway rush to his help, and one will suggest this,
another that — and if all those about him had a chance to
have their way it would certainly result in the sick man's
death; seeing that even one person's well-meaning advice
may be dangerous enough. And even if nothing is done,
and the advice of neither the assembled and well-meaning
crowd nor of any one person is taken, yet their busy and
flurried presence may be harmful, nevertheless, inasmuch
as they are in the way of the physician.

Likewise at a fire. Scarcely has the alarm of fire been
sounded but a great crowd of people will rush to the spot,
good and kindly and sympathetic, helpful people, the one
with a bucket, the other with a basin, still another with a
hand-squirt — all of them goodly, kindly, sympathetic, help-
ful persons who want to do all they can to extinguish the
fire. ,

But what says the fire-marshal? The fire-marshal, he
says — well, at other times the fire-marshal is a very pleas-
ant and refined man; but at a fire he does use coarse lan-
guage— ^he says or, rather, he roars out: "Oh, go to hell
with your buckets and hand-squirts !" And then, when these
well-meaning people feel insulted, perhaps, and think it
highly improper to be treated in this fashion, and would
like at least to be treated respectfully — what says the fire-
marshal then? Well, at other times the fire-marshal is a
very pleasant and refined gentleman who will show every
one the respect due him; but at a fire he is somewhat dif-
frent — he says: "Where the devil is the police?" And
when the policemen arrive he says to them: "Rid me of
these damn people with their buckets and hand-squirts;
and if they won't clear out, then club them on their heads,
so that we get rid of them and — can get at the fire !"

That is to say, in the case of a fire the whole way of
looking at things is a very different one from that of quiet
every-day life. The qualities which in quiet every-day life
render one well-liked, viz., good-nature and kindly well-
meaning, all this is repaid, in the case of a fire, with abusive
language and finally with a crack on the head.

And this is just as it should be. For a conflagration is a
serious business; and wherever we have to deal with a se-

228 University of Texas Bulletin

rious business this well-intentioned kindness won't do at
all. Indeed, any serious business enforces a very different
mode of behavior which is: either — or. Either you are
able really to do something, and really have something to
do here; or else, if that be not the case, then the serious
business demands precisely that you take yourself away.
And if you will not comprehend that, the fire-marshal pro-
poses to have the police hammer it into your head; which
may do you a great deal of good, as it may help to render
you a little serious, as is befitting so serious a business as
a fire.

But what is true in the case of a fire holds true also in
matters of the spirit. Wherever a cause is to be promoted,
or an enterprise to be seen through, or an idea to be served
— you may be sure that when he who really is the man to
do it, the right man, he who, in a higher sense has and
ought to have command, he who is in earnest and can make
the matter the serious business it really is — you may be sure
that when he arrives at the spot, so to say, he will find there
a nice company of easy-going, addle-pated twaddlers who,
pretending to be engaged in serious business, dabble in
wishing to serve this cause, to further that enterprise, to
promote that idea — a company of addle-pated fools who
will of course consider one's unwillingness to make com-
mon cause with them (which unwillingness precisely proves
one's seriousness) — will of course consider that a sure
proof of the man's lack of seriousness. I say, when the
right man arrives he will find this; but I might also look
at it in this fashion : the very question as to whether he is
the right man is most properly decided by his attitude to
that crowd of fools. If he thinks they may help him, and
that he will add to his strength by joining them, then he is
eo ipso not the right man. The right man will understand
at once, as did the fire-marshal, that the crowd must be
got out of the way; in fact, that their presence and putter-
ing around is the most dangerous ally the fire could have.
Only, that in matters of the spirit it is not as in the case
of the conflagration, where the fire-marshal needs but to
say to the police : rid me of these people !

Thus in matters of the spirit, and likewise in matters of

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 229

religion. History has frequently been compared to what
the chemists call a "process." The figure is quite sugges-
tive, providing it is correctly understood. For instance,
in the "process of filtration" water is run through a filter
and by this process loses its impurities. In a totally differ-
ent sense history is a process. The idea is given utter-
ance— and then enters into the process of history. But
unfortunately this process (how ridiculous a supposition!)
consists not in purifying the idea, which never is purer
than at its inception ; oh no, it consists in gradually and in-
creasingly botching, bungling, and making a mess of, the
idea, in using up the idea, in — indeed, is not this the oppo-
site of filtering? — adding the impurer elements which it
originally lacked : until at last, by the enthusiastic and mu-
tually appreciative efforts of successive generations, the
idea has absolutely disappeared and the very opposite of
the original idea is now called the idea, which is then as-
serted to have arisen through a historic process by which
the idea is purified and elevated.

When finally the right man arrives, he who in the highest
sense is called to the task — for all we know, chosen early
and slowly educated for this business — which is, to throw
light on the matter, to set fire to this jungle which is a
refuge for all kinds of foolish talk and delusions and ras-
cally tricks — when he comes he will always find a nice com-
pany of addle-pated fools and twaddlers who, surelj' enough,
do think that, perhaps, things are wrong and that "some-
thing must be done about it" ; or who have taken the posi-
tion, and talk a good deal about it, that it is preposterous
to be self-important and talk about it. Now if he, the right
man, is deceived but a single instant and thinks that it is
this company who are to aid him, then it is clear he is not
the right man. If he is deceived and has dealings with that
company, then providence will at once take its hand off
him, as not fit. But the right man will see at a glance, as
the fire-marshal does, that the crowd who in the kindness
of their hearts mean to help in extinguishing a conflagra-
tion by buckets and hand-squirts — the right man will see
that the same crowd who here, when there is a question,

230 University of Texas Bulletin

not of extinguishing a fire, but rather of setting something
on fire, will in the kindness of their hearts wish to help
with a sulphur match sans fire or a wet spill — he will see
that this crowd must be got rid of, that he must not have the
least thing in common wuth this crowd, that he will be*
obliged to use the coarsest possible language against them
— he who perhaps at other times is anything but coarse.
But the thing of supreme importance is to be rid of the
crowd ; for the effect of the crowd is to hamstring the whole
cause by robbing it of its seriousness while heartfelt sym-
pathy is pretended. Of course the crowd will then rage
against him, against his incredible arrogance and so forth.
This ought not to count with him, whether for or against.
In all truly serious business the law of : either — or, prevails.
Either, I am the man whose serious business this is, I am
called to it, and am willing to take a decisive risk; or, if
this be not the case, then the seriousness of the business
demands that I do not meddle with it at all. Nothing is
more detestable and mean, and nothing discloses and effects
a deeper demoralization, than this lackadaisical wishing to
enter "somewhat" into matters which demand an aut — aut,
aut Caesar aut nihil,^ this taking just a little part in some-
thing, to be so wretchedly lukewarm, to twaddle about the
business, and then by twaddling to usurp through a lie the
attitude of being better than they who wish not to have
anything whatever to do with the whole business — to Usurp
through a lie the attitude of being better, and thus to ren-
der doubly difficult the task of him whose business it really
is.

CONFIRMATION AND WEDDING CEREMONY; CHRISTIAN

-COMEDY — OR WORSE STILL

(No. VII, 6)

Pricks of conscience (insofar as they may be assumed in
this connection) — pricks of conscience seem to have con-
vinced "Christendom" that it was, after all, going too far,
and that it would not do — this beastly farce of becoming

•Either — or; either . Caesar or nothing (Cesare Borgia's slogan).

Selections fi'om the Writings of Kierkegaard 231

a Christian by the simple method of letting a royal official
give the infant a sprinkle of water over his head, which is
the occasion for a family gathering with a banquet to cele-
brate the day.

This won't do, was the opinion of "Christendom," for the
opportunity ought to be given the baptized individual to
indorse personally his baptismal vows.

For this purpose the rite of confirmation was devised —
a splendid invention, providing we take two things for
granted : in the first place, that the idea of divine worship
is to make God ridiculous ; and in the second place, that its
purpose is to give occasion for family celebrations, parties,
a jolly evening, a banquet which is different from other ban-
quets in that it — ah, exquisite — in that it, "at the same
time" has a religious significance.

"The tender child," thus Christendom, "can of course not
assume the baptismal vow personally, for this requires a
real personality." Consequently there was chosen — is this
a stroke of genius or just ingenious? — there was chosen the
age of 14 or 15 years, the schoolboy age. This real per-
sonality— that is all right, if you please — he is equal to the
task of personally assuming responsibility for the baptismal
vow taken in behalf of the infant.

A boy of fifteen ! Now, if it were a matter of 10 dollars,
his father would probably say : "No, my boy, I can't let you
have all that money, you are still too green for that." But
for a matter touching his eternal salvation where the point
is to assume, with all the seriousness one's personality is
capable of, and as a personality, responsibility for what
certainly could not in any profounder sense be called se-
rious— when a child is bound by a vow : for that the age of
fifteen is excellently fitting.

Excellently fitting. Oh yes if, as was remarked above,
divine worship serves a double purpose, viz., to render God
ridiculous in a very adroit manner — if you may call it so —
and to furnish the occasion for graceful family celebrations.
In that case it is indeed excellently fitting, as everything
is on that occasion; as is, likewise, the customary bibMcal
lesson for the day which, you will remember, begins : "Then

232 Vnivey^sity of Texas Bulletin

the same day at evening, when the doors were shut"" —
and this text is particularly suitable to a Confirmation Sun-
day. One is truly edified when hearing a clergyman read
it on a Confirmation Sunday.

As is easily perceived, then, the confirmation ceremony is
still worse nonsense than the baptism of infants, just be-
cause confirmation pretends to supply what was lacking at
the baptism, viz., a real personality capable of making a
vow in a matter touching one's eternal salvation. In an-
other sense this nonsense is, to be sure, ingenious enough,
as serving the self-interest of the clergy who understand
full well that if the decision concerning a man's religion
were reserved until he had reached maturity (which were
the only Christian, as well as the only sensible, way), many
might possess character enough to refuse to become Chris-
tians by an act of hypocrisy. For this reason "the clergy-
man" seeks to gain control of men in their infancy and their
youth, so that they would find it difficult, upon reaching a
more mature age, to break a "sacred" vow dating, to be
sure, from one's boyhood, but which would, perhaps, still
be a serious enough matter to many a one. Hence the
clergy take hold of the infants, the youths, and receive
sacred promises and the like from them. And what that
man of God, "the clergyman," does, why, that is, of course,
a God-fearing action. Else, analogy might, perhaps, de-
mand that to the ordinance forbidding the sale of spirituous
liquors to minors there should be added one forbidding the
taking of solemn vows concerning one's eternal salvation
from — boys ; which ordinance would look toward preventing
the clergy, who themselves are perjurors, from working —
in order to salve their own consciences — from working to-
ward the greatest conceivable shipwreck which is, to make
all society become perjured; for letting boys of fifteen bind
themselves in a matter touching their eternal salvation is a
measure which is precisely calculated to have that effect.

The ceremony of confirmation is, then, in itself a worse

"John 20, 19 — "whex*e the disciples were assembled for fear of the
Jews, came Jesus and stood in the midst, and saith unto them, Peace
be unto you."

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 233

piece of nonsense than the baptism of infants. But in
order to miss nothing which might, in any conceivable man-
ner, contribute to render confirmation the exact opposite
of what it purports to be, this ceremony has been connected
with all manner of worldly and civil affairs, so that the sig-
nificance of confirmation lies chiefly in the — certificate of
character which the minister makes out ; without which cer-
tificate no boy or girl will be able to get on at all in life.^"

The whole thing is a comedy; and perhaps something
might be done to add greater dramatic illusion to the solem-
nity ; as e.g., passing an ordinance forbidding any one to be
confirmed in a jacket, as not becoming a real personality;
likewise, a regulation ordering male candidates for confir-
mation to wear a beard during the ceremony, which beard
might, of course, be taken off for the family celebration
in the evening, or be used in fun and merrymaking.

I am not now attacking the community — they are led
astray ; they cannot be blamed for liking this kind of divine
worship, seeing that they are left to their own devices and
deceived by their clerg\'man who has sworn an oath on the
New Testament. But woe to these clergymen, woe to them,
these sworn liars I I know there have been mockers at re-
ligion, and I know how much they would have given to be
able to do what I do ; but they were not able to, because God
was not with them. It is different with me. Originally as
well disposed to the clergy as few have been, and very ready
to help them, I have undergone a change of heart in the op-
posite direction, owing to their attitude. And the Almightj^
is with me, and He knows how the whip is to be handled
so that the blows take effect, and that laughter must be
that whip, handled with fear and trembling — therefor am I
used.

THE WEDDING CEREMONY

True worship of God consists, very simply, in doing God's
wiU.

'"This was. until very recently, the universal rule in Protestant
Scandinavia and Germany.

234 University of Texas Bulletin

But that kind of divine service has never suited man's
wishes. That which occupies man's mind at all times, that
which gives rise to science" and makes science spread into
many, many sciences, and into interminable detail; that of
which, and for which, thousands of clergymen and profes-
sors live, that which forms the contents of the history of
Christendom, by the study of which the clergyman or the
professor to be is trained — is to get a different kind of
worship arranged, the main point of which would be : to do
what one pleases, but in such fashion that the name of God
and the invocation of God be brought into connection there-
with; by which arrangement man imagines himself safe-
guarded against ungodliness — whereas, alas! just this pro-
cedure is the most unqualified ungodliness.

For example : a man has the intention to make his living
by killing people. To be sure, he knows from the Word
of God that this is not permissible, that God's will is : thou
shalt not kill! "All right," thinks he, "but this way of
serving God will not serve my purposes — at the same time
I don't care to be among the ungodly ones, either." So
what does he do but get hold of some priest who in God's
name blesses his dagger. Ah, c'est Men autre chose!

In the Scriptures the single state is recommended. "But,"
says man, "that kind of worship really does not serve my
purposes — and surely, you can't say that I am an ungodly
person; and such an important step as marriage (which
nota bene God counsels against. His opinion being, in fact,,
that the important thing is not to take "this important
step") — should I take such an important step without mak-
ing sure of God's blessing?" Bravo! "That is what we
have the priest for, that man of God, he will bestow the
blessing on this important step {nota bene concerning which
the most important thing was not to take it at all) and so
it will be acceptable to God" — and so I have my own way ;
and my own way becomes the way of worshipping God;
and the priest has his own way and gets his ten dollars,
which are not earned in such a simple way as, for example,

lilt is to be borne in mind that Danish videnskab, like German
Wissenschaft, embraces the humanities and theology as well.

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 235

by brushing people's clothes, or by serving out beer and
brandy — oh no! Was he not active on behalf of God? To
earn ten dollars in this fashion is: serving God. Brav-
issimo !

What depth of nonsense and abomination ! If something
is not pleasing to God, does it perhaps become pleasing to
Him by having — why, that is aggravating the mischief! —
by having a clergyman along who — why, that is aggravat-
ing the mischief still more! — ^who gets ten dollars for de-
claring it pleasant to God?

Let us consider the marriage ceremony still further! In
His word God recommends the single state. Now suppose
two young people want to be married. To be sure, they
ought certainlj' to know, themselves, what Christianity is,
seeing that they call themselves Christians ; but never mind
that now. The lovers then apply to — the clergyman; and
the clerg>'man is, we remember, pledged by his oath on the
New Testament (which nota bene recommends the single
state) . Now, if he is not a liar and a perjuror who makes
his money in the very shabbiest fashion, he would be bound
to take the following course : at most he could, with human
compassion for this human condition of being in love, say to
them: "Dear children, I am the one to whom you should
turn last of all; to turn to me on this occasion is, indeed,
as strange as if one should turn to the chief of police and
ask him how best to steal. My duty is to employ all means
to restrain you. At most, I can say, with the words of
the Apostle (for they are not the words of Our Lord),
I can say to you: well, if it must be, and you cannot con-
tain, why, then find some way of getting together; for
'it is better to marry than to burn.'^- I know very well that
you will be likely to shudder when I speak in this manner
about what you think is the most beautiful thing in life;
but I must do my duty. And it is therefore I said to
you that to me you should have applied last of all."

It is different in "Christendom." The priest — oh dear
me! — if there are but two to clap together, why certainly!
Indeed, if the persons concerned turned to a midwife they

i-^I Cor. 7, 9.

236 University of Texas Bulletin

would perhaps not be as sure to be confirmed in their con-
viction that their intention is pleasing to God.

And so they are married ; i.e. man has his own way, and
this having his own way strategically serves at the same
time as divine worship, God's name being connected with it.
They are married — by the priest! Ah, for having the
clergyman along is just what reassures one — the man who,
to be sure, is pledged by his oath to preach the New Testa-
ment, but who for a consideration of ten dollars is the
pleasantest company one could desire — that man he guar-
antees that this act is true worship of God.

In a Christian sense one ought to say : precisely the fact
that a priest is in it, precisely that is the worst thing about
the whole business. If you want to be married you ought,
rather, be married by a smith; for then — if it were admis-
sible to speak in this fashion — then it might possibly escape
God's attention; whereas, if there is a priest along it can
certainly not escape His attention. Precisely the fact of
the clergyman's being there makes it as criminal an affair
as possible — call to mind what was said to a man who in a
storm at sea invoked the gods: "By all means do not let
the gods notice that you are aboard!" Thus one might
say here also : By all means try to avoid calling in a priest.
The others, the smith and the lovers, have not pledged
themselves by an oath on the New Testament, so matters
are not as bad — if it be admissible to speak in this fashion
— as when the priest assists with his — holy presence.

AN ETERNITY TO REPENT IN!

(No. VIII, 3)

Let me relate a story. I did not read it in a book of de-
votion but in what is generally called light reading. Yet
I do not hesitate to make use of it, and indicate its source
only lest any one be disturbed if he should happen to be
acquainted with it, or find out at some later time where
it is from — lest he be disturbed that I had been silent
about this.

Once upon a time there lived somewhere in the East
a poor old couple. Utterly poor they were, and anxiety

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 237

about the future naturally grew when they thought of old
age approaching. They did not, indeed, constantly assail
heaven with their prayers, they were too God-fearing to do
that; but still they were ever praying to God for help.

Then one morning it happened that the old woman found
an exceeding large jewel on the hearth-stone, which she
forthwith showed to her husband, who recognized its value
and easily perceived that now their poverty was at an end.

What a bright future for these old people, and what
gladness I But frugal and pious as they were they decided
not to sell the jewel just yet, since they had enough where-
withal to live still one more day. But on the morrow they
would sell it, and then a new life was to begin for them.

In the following night the woman dreamed that she was
transported to Paradise. An angel showed her about the
splendors which only an Oriental imagination can devise.
He showed her a hall in which there stood long rows of
arm-chairs gemmed all over with precious stones and pearls.
These, so the angel explained, were the seats of the pious.
And last of all he pointed out to her the one destined for
herself. When regarding it more closely she discovered
that a very large jewel was lacking in the back of the
chair, and she asked the angel how that might be. He —

— ah, watch now, for here is the point! The angel an-
swered: "That was the jewel which you found on your
hearth-stone. It was given you ahead of time, and it can-
not be put in again."

In the morning the woman told her husband this dream.
And she was of the opinion that it was better, perhaps, to
endure in poverty the few years still left to them to live,
rather than to be without that jewel in all eternity. And
her pious husband was of the same opinion.

So in the evening they laid the jewel on the hearth-stone
and prayed to God to take it away again. And next morn-
ing it had disappeared, for certain; and what had become
of it the old folks well knew : it was in its right place again.

This man was in truth happily married, and his wife a
sensible woman. But even if it were true, as is maintained

238

University of Texas Bulletin

so often, that it is men's wives who cause them to lose sight
of eternal values : even if all men remained unmarried,
there would still be in every one of us an impulse, more
ingenious and more pressing and more unremitting than a
woman, which will cause him to use a wrong measure and
to think a couple of years, or ten years, or forty years,
so enormous a length of time that even eternity were quite
brief in comparison; instead of these years being as noth-
ing when compared with the infinite duration of eternity.

Therefore, heed this well! You may by worldly wis-
dom escape perhaps what it has pleased God to unite with
the condition of one's being a Christian, that is, sufferings
and tribulations; you may, and to your own destruction,
by cleverly avoiding the difficulties, perhaps, gain what God
has forever made incompatible with being a Christian, that
is, the enjoyment of pleasures and all earthly goods; you
may, fooled by your own worldly wisdom, perhaps, finally
perish altogether, in the illusion that you are on the right
way because you have gained happiness in this world: and
then — you will have an eternity to repent in ! An eternity
to repent in ; to repent that you did not employ your time
in doing what might be remembered in all eternity ; that is,
in truth to love God, with the consequence that you suffer
the persecution of men in this life.

Therefore, do not deceive yourself, and of all deceivers
fear most yourself ! Even if it were possible for one, with
regard to eternity, to take something ahead of time, you
would still deceive yourself just by having something ahead
of time — and then an eternity to repent in!

A DOSE OF DISGUST WITH LIFE

(No. IX, 3)

Just as man — as is natural — desires that which tends to
nourish and revive his love of life, likewise he who wishes
to live with eternity in mind needs a constant dose of dis-
gust with life lest he become foolishly enamored of this
world and, still more, in order that he may learn thoroughly
to be disgusted and bored and sickened with the folly and
lies of this wretched world. Here is a dose of it :

Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 239

God Incarnate is betrayed, mocked, deserted by abso-
lutely all men ; not a single one, literally not a single one,
remains faithful to him — and then, afterwards, afterwards,
— oh yes, afterwards, there were millions of men who on
their knees made pilgrimage to the places where many hun-
dred years ago His feet, perhaps, trod the ground; after-
wards, afterwards — oh yes, afterwards, millions wor-
shipped a splinter of the cross on which He was crucified!

And so it was always when men were contemporary with
the great; but afterwards, afterwards — oh yes, after-
wards !

Must one then not loathe being human?

And again, must one not loathe being human ? For these
millions who on their knees made pilgrimage to His grave,
this throng of people which no power on earth was able to
overcome : but one thing were necessary, Christ's return —
and all these millions would quickly regain their feet to
run their way, so that the whole throng were as if blown
away; or would, in a mass, and erect enough, rush upon
Christ in order to kill him.

That which Christ and the Apostles and every martyr
desires, and desires as the only thing: that we should fol-
low in His footsteps, just that is the thing which mankind
does not like or does not find pleasure in.

No, take away the danger — so that it is but play, and then
the batallions of the human race will (ah, disgusting!) will
perform astonishing feats in aping Him; and then instead
of an imitation of Christ we get (ah, disgusting!), we get
that sacred buffoonery — under guidance and command (ah,
disgusting!) of sworn clergymen who do service as ser-
geants, lieutenants, etc. — ordained men who therefore have
the Holy Spirit's special assistance in this serious business.'

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